“I didn’t see it opened,” replied Bat. “But I saw it repacked, and that’s all that went back into it.”
Ashton-Kirk smiled in a dreamy sort of way; the smoke wreathed above his head and his eyes were half closed.
“Did you notice,” he asked, “how the package was wrapped?”
“Just heavy manilla paper,” said Bat, “and tied with a kind of a mixed coloured string.”
The dreamy smile deepened; the face of Ashton-Kirk grew out of the smoke wreaths like a nodding Buddha, so utterly peaceful was it.
“That’s very interesting,” said he, in a pleased tone. “This little matter of yours shows more and more quality with every step.” He paced up and down the floor, still smoking and still with the smile upon his face. “And it was after the receipt of this parcel that the sword was missed from its place upon the wall?”
“It was,” answered Bat, staring. “But look here! You seem to be connecting these two things; for my part, I can’t see them even near to each other.”
“To-morrow, perhaps,” said Ashton-Kirk, “we’ll take a few moments to explain things. Just now, however, there is work to do of a more serious nature.”
He went to a cabinet and opening a drawer took out some typed sheets.
“Fuller telegraphed his report in a private cipher,” said he, “and this is the translation. He was rather fortunate in the matter, for one of his first queries put him upon the track of exactly the people he was after—those who knew young Campe’s father both privately and as a business man, who were Americans and were willing to talk. Within twenty-four hours he had these facts,” tapping the sheets, “on the wire.”