All this was said in the boy’s presence.  He lay listening to it as if it had been a story told of some one else.  I could not resist the useless desire to question him.  Not speaking French myself (although I can read the language), I asked Doctor Wybrow and his friend to interpret for me.

My questions led to nothing.  The French boy knew no more about the stolen envelope than I did.

There was no discoverable motive, mind, for suspecting him of imposing on us.  When I said, “Perhaps you stole it?” he answered quite composedly, “Very likely; they tell me I have been mad; I don’t remember it myself; but mad people do strange things.”  I tried him again.  “Or, perhaps, you took it away out of mischief?” “Yes.”  “And you broke the seal, and looked at the papers?” “I dare say.”  “And then you kept them hidden, thinking they might be of some use to you?  Or perhaps feeling ashamed of what you had done, and meaning to restore them if you got the opportunity?” “You know best, sir.”  The same result followed when we tried to find out where he had been, and what people had taken care of him, during his last vagrant escape from home.  It was a new revelation to him that he had been anywhere.  With evident interest, he applied to us to tell him where he had wandered to, and what people he had seen!

So our last attempts at enlightenment ended.  We came to the final question of how to place the papers, with the least possible loss of time, in Mr. Winterfield’s hands.

His absence in Paris having been mentioned, I stated plainly my own position toward him at the present time.

“Mr. Winterfield has made an appointment with me to call at his hotel, on his return to London,” I said.  “I shall probably be the first friend who sees him.  If you will trust me with your sealed packet, in consideration of these circumstances, I will give you a formal receipt for it in Doctor Wybrow’s presence—­and I will add any written pledge that you may require on my part, acting as Mr. Winterfield’s representative and friend.  Perhaps you would like a reference as well?”

He made a courteous reply.  “A friend of Dr. Wybrow’s,” he said, “requires no other reference.”

“Excuse me,” I persisted.  “I had the honor of meeting Doctor Wybrow, for the first time, yesterday.  Permit me to refer you to Lord Loring, who has long known me as his spiritual director and friend.”

This account of myself settled the matter.  I drew out the necessary securities—­and I have all the papers lying before me on my desk at this moment.

You remember how seals were broken, and impressed again, at the Roman post-office, in the revolutionary days when we were both young men?  Thanks to the knowledge then obtained, the extraordinary events which once associated Mr. Winterfield and Miss Eyrecourt are at last plainly revealed to me.  Copies of the papers are in my possession, and the originals are sealed again, with the crest of the proprietor of the asylum, as if nothing had happened.  I make no attempt to excuse myself.  You know our motto:—­THE END JUSTIFIES THE MEANS.