"Rubbish," said M. Mirabeau, referring to Mr. Bramble's declaration. He was becoming excited. Thrusting a keen-edged knife into de Bosky's hand, he said: "Remove it--but with care, with care!" A moment later de Bosky held the odd little packet in his hand. "Cut the threads," said Mr. Bramble, readjusting his big spectacles. "It is sewed at the ends." The old bookseller was the first of the stupefied men to speak after the contents of the rubber bag were revealed to view. "God bless my soul!" he gasped. Bank notes,--many of them,--lay in de Bosky's palm. Almost mechanically he began to count them. They were of various denominations, none smaller than twenty dollars. The eyes of the men popped as he ran off in succession two five-hundred-dollar bills. Downstairs in the shop of J. Bramble, some one was pounding violently on a counter, but without results. He could produce no one to wait on him. He might as well have tried to rouse the dead. "Clever rascal," said M. Mirabeau at last. "The last place in the world one would think of looking for plunder." "What do you mean?" asked de Bosky, still dazed. "It is quite simple," said the Frenchman. "Who but your enterprising friend, the cracksman, could have thought of anything so original as hiding money in the lining of a fur overcoat? He leaves the coat in your custody, knowing you to be an honest man. At the expiration of his term, he will reclaim--" "Ah, but he has still a matter of ten or eleven years to serve," agreed de Bosky. "A great deal could happen in ten or eleven years. He would not have taken so great a risk. He--" "Um!" mused M. Mirabeau, frowning. "That is so." "What am I to do with it?" cried de Bosky. "Nearly three thousand dollars! Am I awake, Mr. Bramble?" "We can't all be dreaming the same thing," said the bookseller, his fascinated gaze fixed on the bank notes. "Ah-h!" exclaimed M. Mirabeau suddenly. "Try the other shoulder! There will be more. He would not have been so clumsy as to put it all on one side. He would have padded both shoulders alike." And to the increased amazement of all of them, a similar packet was found in the left shoulder of the coat. "What did I tell you!" cried the old Frenchman, triumphantly. Included among the contents of the second bag, was a neatly folded sheet of writing-paper. De Bosky, with trembling fingers, spread it out, and holding it to the light, read in a low, halting manner: