somebody—somebody there!—considered it of so much importance as to appropriate it. Therefore, it is—just what I thought it wasn't—a matter of moment. I ought to have taken more care about it, from the time Mr. Cazalette first drew my attention to those marks inside the lid."
"You're sure that it was on the table at the inquest?" I suggested.
"I'm sure of that," he replied with conviction, "for I distinctly remember laying out the various objects myself. When the inquest was over, I told the man you've just seen to put them all together and to seal the package when he brought it back here. No—that tobacco-box was picked up—stolen—off that table."
"Then there's more in the matter than lies on the surface," said I.
"Evidently," said he. He looked dubiously from Miss Raven to myself. "I suppose the old gentleman—Mr. Cazalette—is to be—trusted? I mean—you don't think that he's found out anything with his photography, and is keeping it dark?"
"Miss Raven and myself," I replied, "know nothing whatever of Mr. Cazalette except that he is a famous authority on coins and medals, a very remarkable person for his age, and Mr. Raven's guest. As to his keeping the result of his investigations dark, I should say that no one could do that sort of thing better!"
"Aye, so I guessed," muttered the inspector. "I wish he'd tell us, though, if he has discovered anything. But I suppose he'll take his time?"
"Precisely," said I. "Men like Mr. Cazalette do.
