"The letters Monsieur Boisségur had dictated were laid on his desk by the stenographer," Monsieur Rigolot rushed on volubly, excitedly. "In the anxiety and uneasiness following the disappearance they were allowed to remain there overnight. On Wednesday morning, Monsieur"—and he hesitated impressively—"those letters bore his signature in his own handwriting!"
Mr. Grimm turned his listless eyes full upon Monsieur Rigolot's perturbed face for one scant instant.
"No doubt of it being his signature?" he queried.
"Non, Monsieur, non!" the secretary exclaimed emphatically. "Vous avez—that is, I have known his signature for years. There is no doubt. The letters were not of a private nature. If you would care to look at copies of them?"
He offered the duplicates tentatively. Mr. Grimm read them over slowly, the while Monsieur Rigolot sat nervously staring at him. They, too, seemed meaningless as bearing on the matter in hand. Finally, Mr. Grimm nodded, and Monsieur Rigolot resumed:
"And Wednesday night, Monsieur, another strange thing happened. Monsieur Boisségur smokes many cigarettes, of a kind made especially for him in France, and shipped to him here. He keeps them in a case on his dressing-table. On Thursday morning his valet reported to me that this case of cigarettes had disappeared!"
"Of course," observed Mr. Grimm, "Monsieur Boisségur has a latch-key to the embassy?"
"Of course."
"Anything unusual happen last night—that is, Thursday night?"
"Nothing, Monsieur—that is, nothing we can find."