“Undoubtedly in London.  There was no address on the letter, and no date, and it was curiously signed:  Mr. King.”

“Mr. King!”

Dr. Cumberly rose slowly from his chair, and took a step toward M. Max.

“You are interested?” said the detective, and shrugged his shoulders, whilst his mobile mouth shaped itself in a grim smile.  “Pardieu!  I knew you would be!  Acting upon another clue which the letter—­priceless letter—­contained, I visited the Credit Lyonnais.  I discovered that an account had been opened there by Mr. Henry Leroux of London on behalf of his wife, Mira Leroux, to the amount of a thousand pounds.”

“A thousand pounds—­really!” cried Dr. Cumberly, drawing his heavy brows together—­“as much as that?”

“Certainly.  It was for a thousand pounds,” repeated Max, “and the whole of that amount had been drawn out.”

“The whole thousand?”

“The whole thousand; nom d’un p’tit bonhomme!  The whole thousand!  Acting, as I have said, upon the information in this always priceless letter, I confronted Madame Jean and the manager of the bank with each other.  Morbleu!  ‘This,’ he said, ‘is Mira Leroux of London!’"...

“What!” cried Cumberly, seemingly quite stupefied by this last revelation.

Max spread wide his palms, and the flexible lips expressed sympathy with the doctor’s stupefaction.

“It is as I tell you,” he continued.  “This Madame Jean had been posing as Mrs. Leroux, and in some way, which I was unable to understand, her signature had been accepted by the Credit Lyonnais.  I examined the specimen signature which had been forwarded to them by the London County and Suburban Bank, and I perceived, at once, that it was not a case of common forgery.  The signatures were identical"...

“Therefore,” said Cumberly, and he was thinking of Henry Leroux, whom Fate delighted in buffeting—­“therefore, the Credit Lyonnais is not responsible?”

“Most decidedly not responsible,” agreed Max.  “So you see I now have two reasons for coming to London:  one, to visit the London County and Suburban Bank, and the other to find...  Mr. King.  The first part of my mission I have performed successfully; but the second"... again he shrugged, and the lines of his mouth were humorous.

Dr. Cumberly began to walk up and down the carpet.

“Poor Leroux!” he muttered—­“poor Leroux.”

“Ah! poor Leroux, indeed,” said Max.  “He is so typical a victim of this most infernal group!”

“What!” Dr. Cumberly turned in his promenade and stared at the detective—­“he’s not the only one?”

“My dear sir,” said Max, gently, “the victims of Mr. King are truly as the sands of Arabia.”

“Good heavens!” muttered Dr. Cumberly; “good heavens!”

“I came immediately to London,” continued Max, “and presented myself at New Scotland Yard.  There I discovered that my inquiry was complicated by a ghastly crime which had been committed in the flat of Mr. Leroux; but I learned, also, that Mr. King was concerned in this crime—­his name had been found upon a scrap of paper clenched in the murdered woman’s hand!”