"No; that was certainly not the case," rejoined my mother; "for it is distinctly stated that--probably to obviate any such possibility--Hugh Saint Leger carefully preserved every article of clothing which his father wore when he died; and the things exist to this day, carefully preserved, upstairs, together with every other article belonging to Richard Saint Leger which happened to be on board the ship at that time." "And have those relics never been examined since my ancestor Hugh abandoned the quest as hopeless?" I inquired. "They may have been; I cannot say," answered my mother. "But I do not believe that your dear father--or your grandfather either, for that matter--ever thought it worth while to subject them to a thoroughly exhaustive scrutiny. Your father, I know, always felt convinced, as you do, that the documents had been either irretrievably lost, or destroyed." "Then if that be so," I exclaimed, "they shall have another thorough overhaul from clew to earring before I am a day older. If, as you say, every scrap of property belonging to Richard Saint Leger was carefully collected and removed from the ship when she came home, and still exists, stored away upstairs, why, the papers _must_ be there too; and if they are I will find them, let them be hidden ever so carefully. Whereabouts do you say these things are, mother?" "In the west attic, where they have always been kept," answered my mother. "Wait a few minutes, my dear boy, until I have found the keys of the boxes, and we will make the search together." CHAPTER TWO. THE CRYPTOGRAM.