Detailed evidence proving that this was the murderer of Gottschalk, his record, his measurements, his thumb-prints, his boots, a number of tubes containing scraps of stained leather, a number containing ashes, and all neatly labelled together with a written confession, signed "Julius Rohscheimer," to the authorship of the words "Vengeance is mine" were also in this box. Finally, there was the following note: "DEAR INSPECTOR SHEFFIELD, "I enclose herewith Andre Legun, the man who murdered Paul Gottschalk, together with sufficient evidence to ensure a conviction, and completely to exculpate myself. I claim no credit. We both are indebted to M. Victor Lemage, who not only has surpassed his own brilliant records in the conduct of this case, but who kindly assisted me to carry the result of his labours into the office at New Scotland Yard. We both regretted our inability to see you personally. "SEVERAC BABLON." CHAPTER XXV AN OFFICIAL CALL The Home Secretary sat before the red-leathern expanse of his writing-table. Papers of unique political importance were strewn carelessly about that diplomatic battlefield, for at this famous table the Right Honourable Walter Belford played political chess. To the right honourable gentleman the game of politics was a pursuit only second in its fascinations to the culture of rare orchids. It ranked in that fine, if eccentric, mind about equal with the accumulating of rare editions, early printed works, illuminated missals, palimpsests, and other MSS., or with the delights of the higher photography--a hobby to which Mr. Belford devoted much attention. Visitors to a well-known Sussex coast resort will need no introduction to Womsley Old Place, the charming seat of that charming man, the Right Hon. Walter Belford. With a frowning glance at a number of letters pinned neatly together, Mr. Belford leant back in his heavily padded chair, and, through his gold-rimmed pince-nez, allowed himself the momentary luxury of surveying the loaded shelves of the noted Circular Study wherein he now was seated. The great writing-table, with its priceless bronze head of Cicero and its luxurious appointments; the morocco, parchment, the vellum backs of the rare works about; the busts above the belles-lettres, afforded him visible, if aesthetic enjoyment. In a gap between two tall bookcases a Persian curtain partially concealed the glass doors of a huge conservatory. Mr. Belford liked his orchids near him when at work and not, as lesser men, when at play. Sighing gently, he took up the bundle of letters, laid it down again, and pressed a button. "I will see Inspector Sheffield," he said to the footman who came.