“Why,” I said, a little impatiently, “you know as well as I do that it belongs to Armand & Son.”

“You’ve seen their representative, then?” he queried, a little flush of excitement which I could not understand spreading over his face.

“He came to see me yesterday.  I’d like you to meet him, Godfrey.  He is Felix Armand, the ‘son’ of the firm, and one of the most finished gentlemen I ever met.”

“I’d like to meet him,” said Godfrey, smiling queerly.  “Perhaps I shall, some day; I hope so, anyway.  But how did he explain the blunder, Lester?”

“In some way, they shipped the wrong cabinet to Vantine.  The right one will get here on La Provence to-morrow,” and I told him in detail the story which Felix Armand had told me.  “He was quite upset over it,” I added, “His apologies were almost abject.”

Godfrey listened intently to all this, and he nodded with satisfaction when I had finished.

“It is all most interesting,” he commented.

“Did M. Armand happen to mention where he is staying?”

“No, but he won’t be hard to find, if you want to see him.  He’s at one of the big hotels, of course—­probably the Plaza or the St. Regis.  He’s too great a swell for any minor hostelry.”

“What time do you expect him to-morrow?”

“Sometime in the afternoon.  He’s to call for me as soon as he gets Vantine’s cabinet off the boat.  Godfrey,” I added, “I felt yesterday when I was talking with him that perhaps he knew more about this affair than he would admit.  I could see that he guessed in an instant who the owner of the letters was, and what they contained.  Do you think I ought to hold on to the cabinet a while longer?  I could invent some pretext for delay, easily enough.”

“Why, no; let him have his cabinet,” said Godfrey, with an alacrity that surprised me.  “If your theory about it has been exploded, what’s the use of hanging on to it?”

“I don’t see any use in doing so,” I admitted, “but I thought perhaps you might want more time to examine it.”

“I’ve examined it all I’m going to,” Godfrey answered, and I told myself that this was the first time I had ever known him to admit himself defeated.

“I have a sort of feeling,” I explained, “that when we let go of the cabinet, we give up the only clue we have to this whole affair.  It is like a confession of defeat.”

“Oh, no, it isn’t,” Godfrey objected.  “If there is nothing more to be learned from the cabinet, there is no reason to retain it.  I should certainly let M. Armand have it.  Perhaps I’ll see you to-morrow,” he added, and we parted at the corner.

But I did not see him on the morrow.  I was rather expecting a call from him during the morning, and when none came, I was certain I should find him awaiting me when I arrived at the Vantine house, in company with M. Armand.  But he was not there, and when I asked for him, Parks told me that he had not seen him since the day before.