"I have never seen him, but I have long been the possessor of a secret which concerns him. Through a number of incidents which I need not relate and thanks to a series of chances, I ended by acquiring the certainty that the man in whose discovery I was interested was leading a dissolute life in Paris and that he was calling himself Pierre Leduc, which is not his real name." "But does he know his real name himself?" "I presume so." "And you?" "Yes, I know it." "Well, tell it to us." He hesitated; then, vehemently: "I can't," he said. "No, I can't." "But why not?" "I have no right to. The whole secret lies there. When I revealed the secret to Rudolf, he attached so much importance to it that he gave me a large sum of money to purchase my silence and he promised me a fortune, a real fortune, on the day when he should succeed, first, in finding Pierre Leduc and, next, in turning the secret to account." He smiled bitterly. "The large sum of money is already lost. I came to see how my fortune was getting on." "Mr. Kesselbach is dead," said the chief detective. Steinweg gave a bound: "Dead! Is it possible? No, it's a trap. Mrs. Kesselbach, is it true?" She bowed her head. He seemed crushed by this unexpected revelation; and, at the same time, it must have been infinitely painful to him, for he began to cry: "My poor Rudolf, I knew him when he was a little boy. . . . He used to come and play at my house at Augsburg. . . . I was very fond of him." And, calling Mrs. Kesselbach to witness, "And he of me, was he not, Mrs. Kesselbach? He must have told you. . . . His old Daddy Steinweg, he used to call me." M. Lenormand went up to him and, in his clearest voice: "Listen to me," he said. "Mr. Kesselbach died murdered. . . . Come, be calm . . . exclamations are of no use. . . . He died murdered, I say, and all the circumstances of the crime prove that the culprit knew about the scheme in question. Was there anything in the nature of that scheme that would enable you to guess . . . ?" Steinweg stood dumfounded. He stammered: "It was my fault. . . . If I had not suggested the thing to him . . ." Mrs. Kesselbach went up to him, entreating him: "Do you think . . . have you any idea? . . . Oh, Steinweg, I implore you! . . ." "I have no idea. . . . I have not reflected," he muttered. "I must have time to reflect. . . ." "Cast about in Mr. Kesselbach's surroundings," said M. Lenormand. "Did nobody take part in your interviews at that time? Was there nobody in whom he himself could have confided?" "No." "Think well." Both the others, Dolores and M. Lenormand, leant toward him, anxiously awaiting his answer. "No," he said, "I don't see. . . ." "Think well," repeated the chief detective. "The murderer's Christian name and surname begin with an L and an M." "An L," he echoed. "I don't see . . . an L . . . an M. . . ." "Yes, the initials are in gold on the corner of a cigarette-case belonging to the murderer."