"Likely enough, mister," remarked Melky. "But I shouldn't bother myself about it if I were you. There'll be more known about this affair before long. Now, look here," he continued, leading the way into the little back-parlour where Lauriston had found Daniel Multenius lying dead, "here's you and me alone--Zillah, she's upstairs, and Mrs. Goldmark is with her. Just you tell me what you saw when you came in here, d'you see, Mr. Lauriston--never mind the police--just give me the facts. I ain't no fool, you know, and I'm going to work this thing out." Lauriston gave Melky a complete account of his connection with the matter: Melky checked off all the points on his long fingers. At the end he turned to the table and indicated the finely-bound book which Lauriston had noticed when he and the detective had first looked round. "The police," said Melky, "made Zillah lock up that tray o' rings that was there in a drawer what she had to clear out for 'em, and they've put a seal on it till tomorrow. They've got those rings of yours, too, mister, haven't they?" "They said it would be best for me to leave them with them," answered Lauriston. "Ayscough advised it. They gave me a receipt for them, you know." "All right," remarked Melky. "But there's something they ain't had the sense to see the importance of--that fine book there. Mister!--that there book wasn't in this parlour, nor in this shop, nor in this house, at a quarter to five o'clock this afternoon, when my cousin Zillah went out, leaving the poor old man alone. She'll swear to that. Now then, who brought it here--who left it here? Between the time Zillah went out, mister, and the time you come in, and found what you did find, somebody--somebody!--had been in here and left that book behind him! And--mark you!--it wasn't pawned, neither. That's a fact! And--it's no common book, that. Look at it, Mr. Lauriston--you'd ought to know something about books. Look at it!--s'elp me if I don't feel there's a clue in that there volume, whoever it belongs to!" Lauriston took the book in his hands. He had only glanced at it casually before; now he examined it carefully, while Melky stood at his elbow, watching. The mysterious volume was certainly worthy of close inspection--a small quarto, wonderfully bound in old dark crimson morocco leather, and ornamented on sides and back with curious gold arabesque work: a heavy clasp, also intricately wrought, held the boards together. Lauriston, something of a book lover, whose natural inclination was to spend his last shilling on a book rather than on beef and bread, looked admiringly at this fine specimen of the binder's art as he turned it over. "That's solid gold, isn't it?" he asked as he unfastened the clasp. "You know." "Solid gold it is, mister--and no error," assented Melky. "Now, what's inside? It ain't no blooming account-book, I'll bet!"