Captain Ducie, hunting about among the debris of the train, was not long in finding the fragments of M. Platzoff’s despatch box.  Its contents were scattered about.  Ducie spent ten minutes in gathering together the various letters and documents which it had contained.  Then, with the broken box under his arm and the papers in his hands, he went back to the Russian.

He showed the papers one by one to Platzoff, who was strangely eager in the matter.  When Ducie held up the last of them, Platzoff groaned and shut his eyes.  “They are all there as far as I can judge,” he murmured, “except the most important one of all—­a paper covered with figures, of no use to anyone but myself.  Oh, dear Captain Ducie! do please go once more and try to find the one that is still missing.  If I only knew that it was burnt, or torn into fragments, I should not mind so much.  But if it were to fall into the hands of a scoundrel skilful enough to master the secret which it contains, then I—­”

He stopped with a scared look on his face, as though he had unwittingly said more than he had intended.

“Pray don’t trouble yourself with any explanations just now,” said Ducie.  “You want the paper:  that is enough.  I will go and have a thorough hunt for it.”

Back went Ducie to the broken carriages and began to search more carefully than before.  “What can be the nature of the great secret, I wonder, that is hidden between the Sibylline leaves I am in search of?  If what Platzoff’s words implied be true, he who learns it is master of the situation.  Would that it were known to me!”

Slowly and carefully, inside and out of the carriage in which he and Platzoff had travelled, Captain Ducie conducted his search.  One by one he again turned over the wraps and different articles of personal luggage belonging to both of them, which had not yet been removed.  The first object that rewarded his search was a splendid diamond pin which he remembered having seen in Platzoff’s scarf.  Ducie picked it up and looked cautiously around.  No one was regarding him.  “Of the first water and worth a hundred guineas at the very least,” he muttered.  Then he put it in his waistcoat pocket and went on with his search.

A minute or two later, hidden away under one of the cushions of the carriage, he found what he was looking for:  a folded sheet of thick blue paper covered with a complicated array of figures—­that and nothing more.

Captain Ducie regarded the recovered treasure with a strange mixture of feelings.  His hands trembled slightly; his heart was beating more quickly than usual; his eyes seemed to see and yet not to see the paper in his hands.  As one mazed and in deep doubt he stood.

His reverie was broken by the approach of some of the railway officials.  The cloud vanished from before his eyes, and he was his cool, imperturbable self in a moment.  Heading the long array of figures on the parchment were a few lines of ordinary writing, written, however, not in English, but Italian.  These few lines Ducie now proceeded to read over more attentively than he had done at the first glance.  He was sufficiently master of Italian to be able to translate them without much difficulty.  Translated they ran as under:—­