"Levendale comes from those parts!" he muttered. "Came here some two or three years ago--by all I can gather." "Just so," said Mr. Penniket. "Therefore, possibly this South African business, in which my late client was undoubtedly engaged, is connected with Mr. Levendale. That can be found out. But I have still more to tell you--perhaps, considering everything, the most important matter of the whole lot. On Monday morning last--that would be a few hours before his death--Mr. Multenius called at the bank and took from it a small packet which he had entrusted to his banker's keeping only a fortnight previously. The bankers do not know what was in that packet--he had more than once got them to take care of similar packets at one time or another. But they described it to me just now. A packet, evidently enclosing a small, hard box, some four or five inches square in all directions, wrapped in strong cartridge paper, and heavily sealed with red wax. It bore Mr. Multenius's name and address--written by himself. Now, then, Miss Wildrose--he took that packet away from the bank at about twelve-thirty on Monday noon. Have you seen anything of it?" "Nothing!" answered Zillah with certainty. "There's no such packet here, Mr. Penniket. I've been through everything--safes, drawers, chests, since my grandfather died, and I've not found anything that I didn't know of. I remember that he went out last Monday morning--he was away two hours, and came in again about a quarter past one, but I never saw such a packet in his possession as that you describe. I know nothing of it." "Well," said the solicitor, after a pause, "there are the facts. And the question now is--ought we not to tell all this to the police, at once? This connection of Levendale with my late client--as undoubted as it seems to have been secret--needs investigation. According to Mr. Purdie here--Levendale has suddenly disappeared--or, at any rate, left home under mysterious circumstances. Has that disappearance anything to do with Multenius's death? Has it anything to do with the death of this next door man, Parslett, last night? And has Levendale any connections with the strange man who dropped one platinum solitaire stud in Mrs. Goldmark's restaurant, and another in this parlour?" No one attempted to answer these questions for a moment; then, Melky, as if seized with a sudden inspiration, smote the table and leaned over it towards the solicitor. "Mr. Penniket!" he said, glancing around him as if to invite approval of what he was about to say. "You're a lawyer, mister!--you can put things in order and present 'em as if they was in a catalogue! Take the whole business to New Scotland Yard, sir!--let the big men at headquarters have a go at it. That's what I say! There's some queer mystery at the bottom of all this, Mr. Penniket, and it ain't a one-man job. Go to the Yard, mister--let 'em try their brains on it!"