“The postman said, ‘Yes, I always slip them into the box, and ring and go away. The servants collect them from the inside.’
“‘Have you noticed if any of the letters you leave here bear a Russian postage stamp!’ Lyle asked.
“The man answered, ‘Oh, yes, sir, a great many.’
“‘From the same person, would you say!’
“‘The writing seems to be the same,’ the man answered. ‘They come regularly about once a week—one of those I delivered this morning had a Russian postmark.’
“‘That will do,’ said Lyle eagerly. ‘Thank you, thank you very much.’
“He ran back into the hall, and, pulling out his penknife, began to pick at the lock of the letter-box.
“‘I have been supremely careless,’ he said in great excitement. ‘Twice before when people I wanted had flown from a house I have been able to follow them by putting a guard over their mail-box. These letters, which arrive regularly every week from Russia in the same handwriting, they can come but from one person. At least, we shall now know the name of the master of this house. Undoubtedly it is one of his letters that the man placed here this morning. We may make a most important discovery.’
“As he was talking he was picking at the lock with his knife, but he was so impatient to reach the letters that he pressed too heavily on the blade and it broke in his hand. I took a step backward and drove my heel into the lock, and burst it open. The lid flew back, and we pressed forward, and each ran his hand down into the letterbox. For a moment we were both too startled to move. The box was empty.
“I do not know how long we stood staring stupidly at each other, but it was Lyle who was the first to recover. He seized me by the arm and pointed excitedly into the empty box.