"Well, Maxwell," he said, "what is this?"
"I don't know, sir," said the breathless Maxwell. "I guessed that you mightn't be far away, so I took the liberty to come after you."
"To give me this packet?"
"Yes, sir. I found it a few minutes ago in the letter-box on the door.
"Ah!" said Garth, in a startled tone, "was it there last time you looked?"
"No, sir; not an hour ago. It ain't got no postmark or stamp."
"And it is addressed to Sir Gregory Fellenger," said Fanks; "I'll open it," and without further remark Fanks did so. Therein was a morocco case. When this was opened they saw lying on a bed of purple velvet a long and slender needle of silver. Garth would have picked it out, but Fanks stopped him with a shudder. "Don't touch it," he said; "there is death here."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," said Fanks, "that I hold in my hand the poisoned needle with which your cousin was murdered."