"Mr John Parham, Keymer, Sydenham Hill, S.E." As I turned it over I remarked, "This also may tell us something. This Mr Parham is perhaps his friend." The card-case was empty, but a couple of pawn tickets for a watch and ring, showing them to be pawned at a shop in the Fulham Road in the name of Green, completed the miscellaneous collection that I had filched from the dead man's pockets, and showed that, at any rate, he had been in want of money, even though he had a few shillings upon him at the time of his death. To say the least, it was a strange, gruesome collection as it lay spread upon the table. To my chagrin one of the blood-stained letters made an ugly mark upon the long hem-stitched linen toilet-cover. Eric took up letter after letter, and with knit brows re-read them, although he vouchsafed no remark. Who was the man? That was the one question which now occupied our minds. "How fortunate we've been able to possess ourselves of these!" I remarked. "Think, if they had fallen into the hands of the police!" "Yes," answered my friend, "you acted boldly--more boldly than I dare act. I only hope that the person who saw us will not gossip. If he does--well, then it will be decidedly awkward." "If he does, then we must put the best face upon matters. He probably didn't see us take anything from the body." "He may have followed and watched. Most likely." "We've more to fear from somebody having seen Sybil go to the spot this afternoon. At that hour people would be at work in the fields, and anybody crossing those turnips must have been seen half a mile off." "Unless they made a _detour_ and came through the wood from the opposite side, as I expect she did. She would never risk discovery by going there openly." "But what shall we do with all this?" I asked. "Burn the lot; that's my advice." "And if we've been discovered. What then? It would be awkward if the police came to us for these letters and we had burnt them. No," I declared. "Let us keep them under lock and key--at least for the present." "Very well, as you like. All I hope is that nobody will identify the fellow," my friend said. "If they do, then his connection with Sybil may be known. Recollect what the letters say about the maid Mason. She suspects." "That's so," I said, seriously. "Mason must be sent to London on some pretence the first thing in the morning. She must not be allowed to see the body." "It seems that Sybil held some secret of the dead man's, and yet was loyal to him throughout. I wonder what it was?" "The fellow was an outsider, without a doubt. Sybil foolishly fell in love with him, and he sought to profit by it. He was an adventurer, most certainly. I don't like that cipher. It's suspicious," I declared. "Then you'll keep all these things in your possession. Better seal them up and put them in your bank or somewhere safe."