“I swear I had forgotten that,” exclaimed Maral, as he jumped up, grabbed his papers and made for the door. “Wait please. Give me the letter which M. Volheno wrote me,” I said, stopping him. He searched for it agitatedly and then thrust it into my hand. “Come on, Barosa,” he cried and darted away. “Are you going to remain?” asked Barosa, hurriedly. I nodded. “You won’t want to use this house again?” “Of course not. But----” The crash of glass below interrupted him, announcing that the police had broken in, and the next moment I had the room to myself and sat down to wait for the real police and find out how their treatment differed from that of the bogus ones. With Volheno’s letter in my possession I had nothing to fear, and I glanced at it to make sure that Maral in his panic had handed me the right one--and then gave a start of surprise. It was Volheno’s letter all right, but folded up in it was a long doubled strip of paper with three rows of small holes punched in it at irregular intervals. I knew instantly what it was--the key to the cipher which I had seen attached to the letter which I had duplicated. As the police might have a fancy to search me I rolled it and the other strip very tightly, emptied a cigarette, inserted the roll, and plugged up the ends with tobacco; and just when the police were at the door I struck a match and was puffing at the cigarette as two of them entered. “Good evening, gentlemen, I’m very relieved to see you,” I said, rising and carefully pinching out the lighted tobacco. “You are our prisoner,” exclaimed one of them, covering me with a revolver. “I’m extremely relieved to hear it, I can assure you.” “Where are the others?” “What others?” “The other scoundrels who use this house?” “To my intense satisfaction your arrival scared them away.” “Don’t try and fool us with that tone. You won’t help them and it will make things worse for you. Put up your hands.” I did so, at once, of course, keeping hold of my precious cigarette, and they made a very business-like search of all my pockets, and then felt all about me to see that I had no weapons. They put the results of their search on the desk, and one of them, being a very zealous officer, went to the trouble of breaking open two or three of the cigarettes and pinching and bending the rest. But it did not occur to him that I could be smoking one which he might wish to see. It had been quite a happy thought, that little precaution of mine. Then one of them picked up the letter from Volheno and was unfolding it when I said gently: “I am not sure that M. Volheno will care for you to read correspondence between us.” The name acted like a charm of magic. He refolded it and dropped it like a live coal. “It would, however, assist you to understand the position, my friend, and appreciate your mistake,” I said in the same suave tone. “Who are you?”