In the last box of all, the correspondence was more recent. It was mostly typewritten copies of letters, evidently addressed by the dead man to various corporations with whom he had dealings, and these they went through letter by letter. “Where were those typed?” said Carver. “And when? He doesn’t seem to have kept a secretary.” Until that moment Tab had forgotten the discovery of the typewriter-key-cover. Now he referred to the find. “But he used to go out every night at half-past six and remain away until half-past eight,” said Tab. “Probably he went to some typewriting office--there are a few in the city which make a specialty of after-hours work.” “That is possible,” admitted Carver. “There is nothing here. I have sent anything that looked important to the translators--I don’t think it is worth while sending the trading accounts of ’89.” He put the papers carefully back into the box. “And that’s the lot,” he said. Tab was standing with his back to the lower shelf to the right hand of the door and his fingers were idly touching the plain strip of steel, when he felt something underneath and looking down, saw that the obstruction which his fingers had found was one of two slides on which hung a drawer. This had been pushed so far back that it was impossible to see it from where they had stood. The detective stooped and picked it out. “Hullo,” he said, “what are these?” He brought out first a small box of Chinese workmanship. It was exquisitely lacquered in pale green. Lifting off the lid he saw that it was empty. “Nothing there--some curio he was hoarding,” said Carver. Next he produced a small brown jewel-case from the drawer and putting it on the broad shelf, opened it. Even before he saw the heart-shaped ruby brooch that was pinned to the satin lining of the lid, Tab knew what it was. “Those are Ursula Ardfern’s jewels,” he said, and they looked at one another. “The jewels that were stolen on Saturday morning?” asked the detective incredulously. Tab nodded and the detective took out an emerald cross, turned it over, looked at its face, then put it back again. “On Saturday morning,” he said slowly, “if I remember the facts aright, and I only read them in the newspaper this morning, Miss Ursula Ardfern went into a post office to buy some stamps. Whilst she was there she put her jewel-case by her side, and looking round, discovered it was gone. Thinking she had made some mistake, she went back to her hotel and searched her room. She reported it to the police on Sunday morning.” “That is the case as I understand it,” said Tab, who was as dumb-founded as his companion.