"I—see; but—but—how could you have known, I mean, how could you have been sure that I was I—until you had communicated with—with her?"
For a third time he smiled, and when he spoke it was in a tone of genuine admiration. "You are an able man, Mr. Hume!" said he, "but no chain is stronger than its weakest link, and your weakest link was revealed to me that very morning!"
"Ah! what was it?"
"An advertisement in the personal column of the Daily Mail."
"You deal in mysteries!" I cried impatiently, "I never inserted such an advertisement in my life."
"It ran like this"—replied Sir Charles. "If the gentleman who left a plain, oak coffin in the front room of number 904 Old Kent Road on the morning of the —— day of ——, does not claim it within fourteen days from date, it will be sold to pay expenses. Sarah Rosenbaum!"
"The idiot!" I gasped. "I gave it to her!"
Sir Charles burst out laughing. "Did you?" he cried—"did you indeed? Well luckily for me she could not have understood you!"
"Do you mean to say, sir, it was only that advertisement which put you on my track?"
"That, and only that. I suspected you before, but I confess that you were adroit enough to allay my suspicions and hoodwink me completely!"