"Lord Bakefield, his wife and his daughter had left for London this morning, by motor. But I saw the maid, the one who had been to the hotel with a letter for you from her mistress. As she was going upstairs, she was overtaken by a gentleman who said, 'M. Simon Dubosc is asleep and said I was to let no one in. I'll give him the letter.' The maid therefore handed him the letter and accepted a tip of a louis. Here's the louis. It's one with the head of Napoleon I. and the date 1807 and is therefore precisely similar to the coin which you picked up near my friend's body." "And then?" asked Simon, anxiously. "Then this man . . . ?" "The man, having read the letter, went and knocked at room 44, which is the next room to yours. Your neighbour opened the door and was seized by the throat, while the murderer, with his free arm, drove a dagger into his neck, above the shoulders." "Do you mean to say that he was stabbed instead of me? . . ." "Yes, instead of you. But he is not dead. They will pull him through." Simon was stunned. "It's dreadful!" he muttered. "Again, that particular way of striking! . . ." After a short pause, he asked: "Do you know nothing of the contents of the letter?" "From some words exchanged by Lord Bakefield and his daughter the maid gathered that they were discussing the wreck of the _Queen Mary_, the steamer on which Miss Bakefield had been shipwrecked the other day and which must be lying high and dry by now. Miss Bakefield appears to have lost a miniature." "Yes," said Simon, thoughtfully, "yes, I dare say. But it is most distressing that this letter was not placed in my own hands. The maid ought never to have given it up." "Why should she have been suspicious?" "What! Of the first person she met?" "But she knew him." "She knew this man?" "Certainly. She had often seen him at Lord Bakefield's; he is a frequent visitor to the house." "Then she was able to give you his name?" "She told me his name." "Well?" "His name's Rolleston." Simon gave a start. "Rolleston!" he exclaimed. "But that's impossible! . . . Rolleston! What madness! . . . What's the fellow like? Give me a description of him." "The man whom the maid and I saw is very tall, which enables him to bend over his victims and stab them from above between the shoulders. He is thin . . . stoops a little . . . and he's very pale. . . ." "Stop!" ordered Simon, impressed by this description, which was that of Edward. "Stop! . . . The man is a friend of mine and I'll answer for him as I would for myself. Rolleston a murderer! What nonsense!" And Simon broke into a nervous laugh, while the Indian, still impassive, resumed: