"Extraordinary!" ejaculated the detective, whose habitual coolness seemed utterly upset by the unexpected discovery. "This adds an entirely new feature to the case!"
"What, I wonder, could have been the motive in giving the notes to mademoiselle?" queried his companion.
"How can we tell?" said the other. "It at least proves one thing, namely, that the man in the owl's dress is the person we suspected him to be."
"Do you believe him to be the actual assassin?" I gasped.
But the detectives, with the aid of the Director of the Theatre, were busy counting the stolen notes. There were sixty, each for one thousand francs.
They examined the leather jewellery case, but found no mark upon it, nor upon the paper wrappings. The box was such as might have once contained a bracelet, but the raised velvet-covered spring in the interior had been removed in order to admit of the introduction of the notes, which, even when folded, formed a rather large packet.
"They are undoubtedly those stolen from Monsieur Thorne," the detective said. "In these circumstances, it is our duty to take possession of them as evidence against the criminal. I shall lodge them with the Prefect of Police until we have completed the inquiry."
"Certainly," I answered. "I have no desire to keep them in my possession. The history connected with them is far too gruesome. But whatever motive could there be in handing them over to me?"
"Ah! that we hope to discover later," the detective responded, carefully folding them, replacing them in the case, and taking charge of the wrappings, which it was believed might form some clue. "At present it would seem very much as though the assassin handed you the proceeds of the crime in order to convince you that robbery was not the motive."
"Then you do believe that the man in the owl's dress was the real culprit?" I cried eagerly. "If so, I have actually danced to-night with poor Reggie's murderer!" I gasped.