I forced my wandering mind back to the subject of the letters. Had they come into Sarah’s hands, and, if so, had she taken them with her? After all, this was a more pressing matter than any danger of mine. “Will it be possible for them to hide in Paris?” I asked anxiously. The specialist shook his head. “Charles knows his business--up to a certain point. Depend on it a smart officer will have been there to meet them at the Gare du Nord, if the French police were notified in time. I don’t think there is much chance of two Englishwomen slipping between the fingers of the Paris detective force.” “Then what will be the next step?” I inquired vaguely. “I shall leave for Paris by to-night’s mail.” The announcement was made curtly. The day before it was I who had been charged with this part of the case. I was to have interviewed Mrs. Weathered and appealed to her womanly feelings on behalf of her husband’s victims. Now it seemed that my chief had changed his mind, and intended to see her himself. I dared not even ask if I was to go with him. A shadow had fallen between us which it was not for me to pierce. I held my tongue, and went on quietly with my breakfast. The consultant went through his mail, passing on to me such letters as I was accustomed to deal with on his behalf--requests for appointments and consultations with other doctors, and so forth. There was no sign that he had withdrawn his confidence in me except when the mystery of the Domino Club was concerned. The meal was just over when a loud summons at the front door was followed by the entrance of Tarleton’s man showing in Inspector Charles. The Inspector was in a state of excitement. In his hand he carried a newspaper which he waved at us both. “Have you seen this morning’s paper?” he called out before the door was closed. “The advertisement in the Agony Column?” Tarleton glanced at me before answering, and I remembered his prediction to Lord Ledbury as he spoke. “What, have they got to work already? What does it say?” Captain Charles read out from the paper in a round, commanding voice: “Dr. Weathered, deceased. Any patients of the late Dr. Weathered desiring to have their letters to him returned are requested to apply, mentioning number, to Messrs. James, Halliday and James, Solicitors, Carmichael House, Chancery Lane, E.C.4.” He did not spare us even the 4. Sir Frank nodded approvingly. “Very well worded, very well worded, indeed. It sounds like a perfectly respectable offer.” It sounded so to me. But the Inspector was puzzled. “What does it mean?” he exclaimed. “Why should they advertise? Why not return the letters at once, or write to the patients? And why should they want to know the exact numbers?”