"The case was sent here by Mr. Mossa himself," Marley admitted.
"Then, of course, it is mine. I had to give Mr. Mossa my opinion of him this morning, and by way of spiting me he sent that case here, hoping, perhaps, that I should not recover it. You know the case Marley—it was lying on the floor of my conservatory last night."
"I did notice a gun-metal case there," Marley said, cautiously.
"As a matter of fact, you called my attention to it and asked if it was mine."
"And you said at first that it wasn't, sir."
"Well, you must make allowances for my then frame of mind," David laughed. "I rather gather from your manner that somebody else has been after the case; if that is so, you are right to be reticent. Still, it is in your hands to settle the matter on the spot. All you have to do is to open the case, and if you fail to find my initials, D.S., scratched in the left-hand top corner, then I have lost my property and the other fellow has found his."
In the same reticent fashion Marley proceeded to unlock a safe in the corner, and from thence he produced what appeared to be the identical cause of all this talk. He pulled the electric table lamp over to him and proceeded to examine the inside carefully.
"You are quite right," he said, at length. "Your initials are here."
"Not strange, seeing that I scratched them there last night," said David, drily. "When? Oh, it was after you left my house last night."
"And it has been some time in your possession, sir?"