“One never knows,” said Westerham, thoughtfully. “I think we had better send for Rookley.”
Rookley came and surveyed the mysterious package with a suspicious gaze. He picked it up gently, and then almost smiled as he laid it down again.
“I don't think you need fear its containing anything in the nature of an explosive,” he said; “certainly not an infernal machine. It is much too light.”
Westerham nodded, and without a word drew a knife from his pocket and cut the string. Unfolding the paper, he laid bare a brown cardboard box.
Both the Premier and Rookley were leaning eagerly over Westerham's shoulders as he raised the lid.
Then the three men cried out together and stood rigid as though frozen with horror.
Lord Penshurst gave a second cry, and reeling backwards would have fallen had not Westerham caught him in his arms.
For lying on the top of a little pile of shavings was a human ear. It was the small, round ear of a woman, and against the blood-stained lobe glittered a single diamond.