Then I began to think of something else. I had the cabin to myself, which was pleasant, and I spent most of the day stretched out in my bunk. Oh, how I longed every hour for the terribly boring voyage to come to an end! It was a lovely morning when at last we steamed into the estuary of the Seine, and I shall never forget how beautiful the river and its banks looked as I peered out through my port-hole and we crept up towards Rouen. My meals had all been served in my cabin during the voyage, as I could not well have taken the suit-case with me into the saloon. Now I felt like a prisoner about to be released. Mr. Rayne had told me to stop at the post-office in Rouen on my way from the boat to Paris, as I might, he said, find a letter or a telegram awaiting me. I had managed to pass the suit-case through the Customs, and now my heart beat faster as a letter was handed to me, for I recognized Lola's handwriting; I had seen it only once before--that was on a letter she had asked me to post for her. I hurriedly tore open the envelope, and this was what I read: "Private. I have suspicion that the suit-case you have you should get rid of at once. Destroy this!" Undated and unsigned, the letter bore no address. At once thoughts and conjectures of all sorts came crowding into my mind. Could it be that the suit-case contained stolen jewelry and not documents? Instantly I guessed why Rayne had sent me to Paris with it by that roundabout route. He must either himself be the thief, I concluded, or an accomplice in the theft, and by placing the stolen property in my charge and smuggling it out of England by a circuitous route.... One reflection led quickly to another. Paul, the valet, no doubt knew about his master's private life--possibly was in his confidence. And if Rayne had committed the robbery he must be a professional crook. In which case, should the whereabouts of the stolen property be discovered, I should be arrested as an accessory to the crime! Clearly I had no time to lose if I wanted to safeguard myself. Even now the police, with their wonderful acumen, might be on my track! I reached Paris at last, and as my taxi swung round from the Place Jeanne d'Arc into the Rue de Rivoli I began to feel extremely nervous. In reply to my inquiry at the bureau of the smart Hotel Ombrone I was told that I could be given a bed. Monsieur Duperre? Ah, monsieur had just gone out, but would be back soon, most likely. I had been given the key of my room, and was about to enter the lift, when I noticed seated on a settee in the vestibule a well-dressed woman whose face seemed familiar. And then in a flash I recognized the lady who had been at Overstow Hall on the day I had arrived there! She did not recognize me, or I concluded she did not, and naturally it was no business of mine to make any sign of recognition. I had been in my room, I suppose, about two hours when the telephone bell rang.