"Oh, yes! I've seen that before. It's foreign. When I was an assistant at Grimmel and Grice's in Bond Street, Mr Grice bought a quantity of it from Paris because of its unusual colour and texture. It was quite in vogue for a time, and it could only be obtained from us." "Then all of this particular paper came from Grimmel and Grice's?" "Certainly, sir, I recollect the `Westford Mill' well. We supplied it to half the aristocracy of London." Smeaton, much pleased with his discovery, took a taxi to Bond Street, and entering the fashionable stationers' addressed himself to the first person he saw, a young man of about twenty-five. "Do you make this paper nowadays?" he asked. The shopman examined it, and shook his head. "No, sir, that paper has not been sold here since I've been in the business." "And how long would that be?" "A matter of six years or so." "I am anxious to make some further inquiries," said Smeaton, after a moment's pause. "Who is the oldest assistant in the shop?" "Mr Morgan, sir. He's been with Grimmel and Grice a matter of nearly fifty years, man and boy. He's on the other side. I will take you to him." Smeaton was introduced to the veteran Mr Morgan, an alert-looking man, in spite of his years. Smeaton explained his name and errand, adding that he was from Scotland Yard. Morgan at once became interested. He looked at the watermark. "I remember that paper well," he said at length. "It had a tremendous vogue for a little time; we couldn't get it over from Paris fast enough. Then it went as suddenly out of fashion." "I suppose you can't help me with any dates?" "Oh, but indeed I can, Mr Smeaton. I have a wonderful memory for everything connected with the business. Old Mr Grice used to say that my memory was as good as the firm's books. The paper started just twenty-five years ago, and it ran for five years. After that, no more was made." Smeaton expressed his gratitude. Mr Morgan's excellent memory would shorten his labours considerably. "Can you give me any clue to these letters on the envelope, I wonder?" But here Mr Morgan was at fault. "We supplied hundreds upon hundreds of customers at the time. And all our old ledgers were burnt in our fire fifteen years ago. But I think I recognise the workmanship of the cipher. I should say that stamp was cut by Millingtons in Clerkenwell Road. They made a speciality of that kind of thing years ago. If you go there, they may have some record. They're new people there now; old Mr Millington is my senior by ten years or more. He sold the business about fifteen years ago. But he is still alive, and lives somewhere in the Camberwell direction." Smeaton entered the address in his notebook, and shook Mr Morgan cordially by the hand. He would go to the Clerkenwell Road, and, if necessary, hunt up the ancient Mr Millington. If he possessed as good a memory as his friend some very useful information might be gathered. CHAPTER SIXTEEN.