Though the parcel was addressed to Lord Penshurst, Westerham took it from the attendant and with his own hands laid it carefully and softly down on the Premier's table. For a moment Westerham looked reflectively at the Prime Minister. “I wonder,” he said slowly, “if this parcel comes from Melun?” Lord Penshurst was all eagerness. “Let's open it at once and see,” he said. But Westerham pushed the Prime Minister's hands away from the package. “Leave it alone,” he said, “we don't know what it may contain.” Lord Penshurst glanced at him sharply. “Good Heavens!” he cried, “you don't mean to tell me that you think Melun would dare to send me a bomb or something of that sort?” “One never knows,” said Westerham, thoughtfully. “I think we had better send for Rookley.” Rookley came and surveyed the mysterious package with a suspicious gaze. He picked it up gently, and then almost smiled as he laid it down again. “I don't think you need fear its containing anything in the nature of an explosive,” he said; “certainly not an infernal machine. It is much too light.” Westerham nodded, and without a word drew a knife from his pocket and cut the string. Unfolding the paper, he laid bare a brown cardboard box. Both the Premier and Rookley were leaning eagerly over Westerham's shoulders as he raised the lid. Then the three men cried out together and stood rigid as though frozen with horror. Lord Penshurst gave a second cry, and reeling backwards would have fallen had not Westerham caught him in his arms. For lying on the top of a little pile of shavings was a human ear. It was the small, round ear of a woman, and against the blood-stained lobe glittered a single diamond. “Oh, God!” cried the Premier, turning away his ashen face. “It's my daughter's!” CHAPTER XXIV WESTERHAM'S WAY OUT Lord Penshurst was beside himself with grief, and clung to Westerham as a child might, weeping passionately in his arms. Rookley, with a miserable face, had slipped out of the room. It was a quarter of an hour before Westerham succeeded in bringing Lord Penshurst back to a coherent frame of mind. Then he helped him to his room, and left him dazed and piteous on his bed. Of the three men who had made the dread discovery Westerham was perhaps the hardest hit, but he walked back to the little box and its horrible contents with set lips and grim face. It was not, however, without a little shudder that he lifted the lid and looked inside again. He had anticipated that such an awful token would not be sent unaccompanied by a message, and an examination of the box proved his conjecture right. Tucked into the lid was a crumpled piece of paper. He smoothed it out carefully, and was then able to read the following message:—