"But I haven't had that letter!" Simon remarked.
"The porter, luckily for you, mistook the number. You're in room 43."
"And what became of it? Who sent it?"
"Here is a piece of the envelope which I picked up," replied the Indian. "You can still make out a seal with Lord Bakefield's arms. So I went to Battle House."
"And you saw . . . ?"
"Lord Bakefield, his wife and his daughter had left for London this morning, by motor. But I saw the maid, the one who had been to the hotel with a letter for you from her mistress. As she was going upstairs, she was overtaken by a gentleman who said, 'M. Simon Dubosc is asleep and said I was to let no one in. I'll give him the letter.' The maid therefore handed him the letter and accepted a tip of a louis. Here's the louis. It's one with the head of Napoleon I. and the date 1807 and is therefore precisely similar to the coin which you picked up near my friend's body."
"And then?" asked Simon, anxiously. "Then this man . . . ?"
"The man, having read the letter, went and knocked at room 44, which is the next room to yours. Your neighbour opened the door and was seized by the throat, while the murderer, with his free arm, drove a dagger into his neck, above the shoulders."
"Do you mean to say that he was stabbed instead of me? . . ."
"Yes, instead of you. But he is not dead. They will pull him through."