"Famous!" he said bitterly, "no; I'm not famous yet, but notorious enough. There's only one chance of escape for me."
"And that is?"
"To trace those notes that were stolen--twenty five-pound notes like this," taking up the five-pound note.
"But you haven't got the numbers."
"No; but, as I told Naball, that boy wrote something on the back of one of them." Here Keith turned over the five-pound note; and then, giving a cry of surprise, sprang to his feet. "Eugénie, look, look!"
She snatched the note from him, and there on the back were traced in ink the words, "Back Flat-Iron."
"One of the notes," said Keith hoarsely. "One of the notes stolen on that night by the person who murdered Jacob Lazarus."
Eugénie had also risen to her feet and her face wore a look of horror. She looked at her lover, and he looked back again, with the same name in their thoughts.
"Kitty Marchurst!"
"Good God!" said Stewart, moistening his dry lips with his tongue, "can she be guilty, after all?"