“Here it is,” said Sholmes, “I found it in the garden, under the box of a laurel tree.”
The baron bowed to Sholmes in recognition of his skill. Only forty minutes had elapsed since the Englishman had entered the house, and he had already exploded all the theories theretofore formed, and which had been based on what appeared to be obvious and undeniable facts. But what now appeared to be the real facts of the case rested upon a more solid foundation, to-wit, the astute reasoning of a Herlock Sholmes.
“The accusation which you make against one of our household is a very serious matter,” said the baroness. “Our servants have been with us a long time and none of them would betray our trust.”
“If none of them has betrayed you, how can you explain the fact that I received this letter on the same day and by the same mail as the letter you wrote to me?”
He handed to the baroness the letter that he had received from Arsène Lupin. She exclaimed, in amazement:
“Arsène Lupin! How could he know?”
“Did you tell anyone that you had written to me?”
“No one,” replied the baron. “The idea occurred to us the other evening at the dinner-table.”
“Before the servants?”
“No, only our two children. Oh, no ... Sophie and Henriette had left the table, hadn’t they, Suzanne?”