“We’ll have to cable over to Paris,” remarked Simmonds.  “He’s French, all right—­that silk handkerchief proves it.”

“Yes—­and his best girl proves it, too,” put in Godfrey.

“His best girl?”

For answer, Godfrey held up the watch, which he had been examining.  He had opened the case, and inside it was a photograph—­the photograph of a woman with bold, dark eyes and full lips and oval face—­a face so typically French that it was not to be mistaken.

“A lady’s-maid, I should say,” added Godfrey, looking at it again.  “Rather good-looking at one time, but past her first youth, and so compelled perhaps to bestow her affections on a man a little beneath her—­no doubt compelled also to contribute to his support in order to retain him.  A woman with many pasts and no future—­”

“Oh, come,” broke in Goldberger impatiently, “keep your second-hand epigrams for the Record.  What we want are facts.”

Godfrey flushed a little at the words and laid down the watch.

“There is one fact which you have apparently overlooked,” he said quietly, “but it proves beyond the shadow of a doubt that this fellow didn’t drift in here by accident.  He came here of intention, and the intention wasn’t to kill himself, either.”

“How do you know that?” demanded Goldberger, incredulously.

Godfrey picked up the purse, opened it, and took out one of the cards.

“By this,” he said, and held it up.  “You have already seen what is written on the back of it—­Mr. Vantine’s name and the number of this house.  That proves, doesn’t it, that this fellow came to New York expressly to see Mr. Vantine?”

“Perhaps you think Mr. Vantine killed him,” suggested Goldberger, sarcastically.

“No,” said Godfrey; “he didn’t have time.  You understand, Mr. Vantine,” he added, smiling at that gentleman, who was listening to all this with perplexed countenance, “we are simply talking now about possibilities.  You couldn’t possibly have killed this fellow because Lester has testified that he was with you constantly from the moment this man entered the house until his body was found, with the exception of the few seconds which elapsed between the time you entered this room and the time he joined you here, summoned by your cry.  So you are out of the running.”

“Thanks,” said Vantine, drily.

“I suppose, then, you think it was Parks,” said Goldberger.

“It may quite possibly have been Parks,” agreed Godfrey, gravely.

“Nonsense!” broke in Vantine, impatiently.  “Parks is as straight as a string—­he’s been with me for eight years.”

“Of course it’s nonsense,” assented Goldberger.  “It’s nonsense to say that he was killed by anybody.  He killed himself.  We’ll learn the cause when we identify him—­jealousy maybe, or maybe just hard luck —­he doesn’t look affluent.”

“I’ll cable to Paris,” said Simmonds.  “If he belongs there, we’ll soon find out who he is.”