"Did the police find it or examine it?" cried Jimmie.
"No, sir. I forgot to speak of it."
"Let me see it, please! It may lead to something of importance."
Mrs. Rickett willingly conducted her visitor through the hall and up the staircase. A sense of the recent tragedy seemed to haunt the room, with its drawn curtains and tawdry furnishings, and the dark stain on the floor. The landlady shuddered, and glanced fearfully around. She made haste to open a narrow closet, and to slide open a disguised panel at the back of it, which disclosed a small recess. Jimmie, who was at her shoulder, uttered a cry of surprise. He saw a gleam of white, and reached for it quickly. He drew out an envelope, unaddressed and sealed, with contents of a bulky nature.
"Bless me! She did 'ide something!" gasped Mrs. Rickett. "What can it be?"
"Writing, perhaps," replied Jimmie. "Will you permit me to have this, Mrs. Rickett? I will examine it at my leisure, and tell you about it later."
"I've no objections, sir," the landlady replied, as another five-pound note was slipped into her hand. "Take it and welcome!"
Jimmie thanked her, and pocketed the envelope.
"I will see you again," he said, "and tell you whether I succeed or fail. And, meanwhile, I must ask you to keep my visit a strict secret—to inform no one of what you have told me. And don't breathe a whisper in regard to anything being found in the murdered woman's room. Keep your own counsel."
"I'll do that, sir, never fear. I'm a close-mouthed woman, and know how to hold my tongue, which there ain't many females can say the same. And I'm sure you'll do the right thing by me."