The Ivory Snuff Box

by Frederic Arnold Kummer

"My handwriting! Naturally. What of it?" He went toward the detective, an eager look in his face. Lefevre, Dufrenne, and Grace also crowded about, their expressions showing the interest which Duvall's questions had aroused.

The detective began to unroll the little white pellet with the utmost deliberation. It presently became a tiny strip of tissue paper, not over two and a half inches long, upon which was written a series of numbers. "Is that, then, your handwriting, monsieur?" he inquired carelessly, as he placed the strip of paper in De Grissac's trembling hand.

"Mon Dieu! The key!" fairly shouted the Ambassador, as his eyes fell upon the bit of paper. "Monsieur Duvall, what does this mean?"

"It means, monsieur," replied the detective, coolly, "that while I was left alone in the room downstairs, I tore off the lower half of your key, which luckily, was a sufficient width to enable me to do so, and with a fountain pen I had in my pocket, wrote upon this second slip of paper a series of numbers taken at random. This series I placed in the secret recess in the box. I do not think it will prove of much use to our friends in Brussels."

"Duvall!" cried Lefevre, rushing forward with outstretched hands. "Forgive me—forgive me!" He was not quick enough, however, to forestall Grace, who with one cry of happiness had flung herself into her husband's arms. "Richard!" she cried, and then sank sobbing but happy upon his breast.

Monsieur Lefevre seized his assistant by the arm and began to shake his hand in a way which almost threatened to dislocate the young man's shoulder. "My boy," he cried, laughing and crying at the same time, "forgive me—forgive me. I was hasty. I should have let you speak, first. God be praised, everything is well. De Grissac—think of it—they will puzzle their brains over that cipher for weeks and weeks and they will discover nothing—nothing! Is it not splendid!" He grasped the Ambassador's hand and embraced him with ardor. "Magnificent! Superb!"

The Ambassador was no less overjoyed. "Young man," he said, "we owe you the deepest apologies. No one could have done better. I thank you from the bottom of my heart." Dufrenne also offered his congratulations. "My friend," he said, "I have done you a great injustice. I salute you, not only as a brave man, but as a very shrewd one. As for me, I fear I am only an old fool."

Duvall patted the old man on the shoulder and smiled. "A patriot, monsieur, and for that I honor you. I was luckily able to turn the tables on these fellows. But one thing you, and all of you, gentlemen, should know. Had I not been able to substitute a false key for the real one, the latter would never have passed into Hartmann's hands, if I had died for it."

"I know it, my friend. I was a fool, a dolt, even for one moment to doubt it. I ask your pardon, and that of madame, your wife," cried Lefevre, seizing Duvall's hands in his. Grace looked proudly at her husband, her knowledge of her own weakness forgotten in the triumph that he had won.

"And now, monsieur," said Duvall, with a look of happiness in his face as he caught his wife's glance, "with your permission, Mrs. Duvall and myself will begin once more our interrupted honeymoon."