"Of course," he said. "His Excellency will, I'm sure, be extremely indebted to you for acting with such discretion. Had they fallen into the hands of the London police they might have been copied, and the secret of our methods known. Besides, in any case, it surely would be most detrimental to our prestige, if the public knew that confidential reports of this character were being allowed to pass from hand to hand for any one to read." "I viewed the matter from exactly the same standpoint," I said. "My own opinion is that Nardini intended either to sell them, or to levy blackmail by their means." But the official only shrugged his shoulders in ignorance. It was not likely that he would condemn his own compatriot, even though at heart he despised both the man and his dishonest methods. Each paper he examined carefully, and once or twice gave vent to ejaculations of surprise when he read facts concerning certain persons in high positions in Rome which amazed him. "At this moment His Excellency is unfortunately out, but I trust, Mr Leaf, you will leave these with me," he suggested. "We shall send them back under seal to Rome." "Of course, that was my intention," I said. And then, in reply to some further questions, I described to him the circumstances in which Nardini had died. Of course I made no mention of Lucie Miller nor of her strange story of the dead man's mysterious hatred of myself. I only apologised that I had not thought of communicating with the Italian Consulate, and expressed a hope that the restoration of these documents might partly atone for my remissness. "There is, I suppose, nothing else among the dead man's belongings to interest us?" he asked seriously. "You have, of course, made careful search?" "Yes. I have had an inventory made by a solicitor. There is nothing else," I answered; and after giving my courteous friend my club address, and chatting for some ten minutes longer, I received his renewed thanks, and departed. My one thought now was of Lucie Miller, the woman whose piteous appeal to the fugitive had been in vain. Several matters puzzled me and held me mystified. Sammy now seemed reluctant to discuss the matter any farther. Light-hearted, easy-going and irresponsible, he declared that he wasn't going to trouble his head about mysteries. The Italian was dead and buried, and there let him rest. And as for Lucie, he had told me the truth concerning her, and it ought to suffice me. But it did not suffice me. That desperate appeal she had written to the man who had held her future in his hands showed me that she was in dire straits. What could be the allegation against her?