There, upon an old hair-cloth lounge, lay the man whom he heard talking to Evelyn Chandler on that memorable night.
Ben Mauprat did not move.
The same heavy snores that had greeted Neil upon his entrance continued, perhaps a trifle louder, and feeling that he was secure from interruption from the woman who had admitted him, Neil began a hasty survey of the premises.
There was not much to see.
A broken chair, a table, with pieces of wood propping up one leg, an old secretary, with one door wrenched off, a dilapidated inkstand, and that seemed to be about all.
Lightly Neil stepped to the secretary and began looking over its contents.
The first thing that met his eyes was a dainty note that even the grimy hands of Ben Mauprat could not rob of its beauty.
Without the slightest hesitation he opened it. There was no beginning. It simply read:
"Nothing has been heard of the girl yet. We must find her at all hazards, and make sure that her mouth is securely closed, for upon that all depends. The engagement has been resumed, so that your interests are safe as far as Luis Kingsley is concerned. You seem to forget how much you owe me on that score, for the moment I am the wife of L. P. you can bring forward the proof that you have discovered, and you may be sure that you will get your part of the money. Trust me for that. If L. P. should hear anything of this, I mean so far as you are concerned, my chances with him would be dough. I send the money that you requested.
"E. C."
It did not require the initials to tell Neil who the writer was.