The paper I held in my hand was the original of the secret convention between England and Germany; the document which had been stolen from me, transmitted by telegraph to the Russian Foreign Office, and had nearly caused a terrible and disastrous European war. When I took it from among the letters and saw its neat, formal writing and sprawly signatures, I gazed upon it in blank amazement, unable at first to realise the startling truth. There was, however, no room for doubt. It was the actual document which had been so ingeniously purloined, for it reposed in the escritoire still in its official envelope. The great black seal affixed by the Earl of Warnham had been broken, and both envelope and document had the appearance of having at some time or other been folded small, besides being sadly crumpled. Beneath the shaded light I examined the envelope carefully, and detected a faint carmine streak upon it; then, placing it to my nostrils, found that it exuded a stale odour of sampaguita. In an instant the truth was plain. The pink discolouration had been caused by rouge; the scent was Ella's favourite perfume, which she always procured from Paris. No doubt the document had been carried for a considerable period in her pocket for safety, and become crumpled, as papers will if carried in a woman's dress. While the envelope might easily have absorbed the odour of that unmistakable perfume from her handkerchief, the streak of rouge puzzled me, for I had never suspected her of an artificial complexion, nor had I ever seen the hare's foot and carmine among her toilet articles. "Tell Roberts I wish to speak to her," I said, turning to Juckes, who had stood by in silence, puzzled at my strange action of breaking the top of the escritoire. He obeyed, and in a few moments the neat, dark-eyed maid entered. "Roberts," I exclaimed, "I want you to tell me something. Does my wife use any carmine to give artificial colour to her cheeks?" "Oh, no, sir," the girl assured me. "Madame is very averse to the use of such things. Once or twice, when she has been going out at night, and looked unusually pale, I have suggested a little additional colour, but she has always refused." "Did she have any rouge or anything of that sort in her possession?" I inquired. "No, sir, I am quite certain she hadn't." "Why are you so confident?" "Because only the other day, when I was ill with a sick headache, madame urged me to use some colour, as my face was so pale. Visitors were coming, she said, and she didn't want me to look like a ghost. I told her that I had no carmine, and she remarked that she had none, therefore nothing could be done." "When did my wife pack those two trunks she took with her this evening?" "Last Monday, sir," the girl answered, slowly twisting her befrilled apron in her hands. "She received a note by boy-messenger, and immediately set about packing the boxes."