"Am I to take this as your final answer?"
"Yes, and I will now state my reasons. I did see this pocket-book. It fell into my lap. Now that you have enlightened me, there is no reason why I should deny the fact any longer. But, as for returning the article, it is impossible, as it is no longer in my possession."
"You can at least tell me what you have done with it."
"I did what any one else would have done with it. I left it at the office of the commissary of police."
The stranger turned perceptibly paler, but he did not lose countenance. "At the office of the commissary of the Chaussée d'Antin district?" he asked.
"Do you think of claiming the article?" rejoined Puymirol, wishing to evade this rather embarrassing question.
"Possibly. Before doing so, however, I must consult the person who is most interested in the matter. But you, no doubt, opened the pocket-book before taking it to the commissary's office?"
"Yes; and on discovering that it only contained some papers, my first impulse was to throw it out of the window, but on reflection I said to myself: Russian leather has its value, and I thought that the papers might furnish a clue to the owner of the article."
"Did you read the letters?"
"I glanced at them, and seeing that they bore no signature I replaced them in the pocket-book," replied Puymirol, at the same time suddenly noticing the direction of the stranger's glance, which was turned upon his—Puymirol's chest. Instinctively raising his hand he found that one end of the pocket-book was now projecting from his breast-pocket. He had unbuttoned his coat on sitting down to dinner, but he now hastily closed it again.