But the detectives, with the aid of the Director of the Casino, were busy counting the stolen notes. There were sixty, each for one thousand francs. They examined the leather jewelry case, but found no mark upon it nor upon the paper wrappings. The box was such as might have once contained a bracelet, but the raised velvet-covered spring in the interior had been removed in order to admit of the introduction of the bank-notes, which, even when folded, formed a rather large packet. “They are undoubtedly those stolen from M’sieur Thorne,” the detective said. “In these circumstances it is our duty to take possession of them as evidence against the criminal. I shall lodge them with the Prefect of Police until we have completed the inquiry.” “Certainly,” I answered. “I have no desire to keep them in my possession. The history connected with them is far too gruesome. But whatever motive could there be in handing them to me?” “Ah, that we hope to discover later,” the detective responded, carefully folding them, replacing them in the case, and taking charge of the wrappings, which it was believed might form some clue. “At present it would seem very much as though the assassin handed you the proceeds of his crime in order to convince you that robbery was not the motive.” “Then you do believe that the man in the owl’s dress was the real culprit?” I cried eagerly. “If so, I have actually danced to-night with poor Reggie’s murderer!” I gasped. “It is more than likely that we shall be able to establish that fact,” the subordinate observed in a rather uncertain tone. “How unfortunate,” ejaculated his superior, “that we allowed him to thus slip through our fingers--and with the money actually upon him too!” “Yes,” observed the Director of the Casino. “You have certainly to-night lost an excellent opportunity, messieurs. It is curious that neither of you noticed mademoiselle in the box talking with this mysterious individual.” “That was, I think, impossible,” I remarked. “We sat quite back in the small alcove.” “What number was your box?” the Director asked. “Fifteen.” “Ah! of course,” he said quickly. “There is, I remember, a kind of alcove at the back. You sat in there.” “Well,” observed the chief detective, “no good can be done by remaining here longer, I suppose, so we had better endeavor to trace this interesting person by other means. The fact that he has given up the proceeds of the crime is sufficient to show that he means to leave Nice. Therefore we must lose no time,” and he glanced at his watch. “Ten minutes to two,” he said. Then turning to his assistant, he ordered him to drive to the station and see whether the man who had worn the disguise of the night-bird was among the travellers leaving for Marseilles at two-thirty.