that the assassin was in search of that key and had been unsuccessful?
He showed me the artful manner in which it had been concealed. The small hardy fern had been rooted up and stuck back again heedlessly into its pot. Certainly no one would ever have thought to search for a safe-key there. The dampness of the mould had caused the rust, hence before we could open the iron door we were compelled to oil the key with some brilliantine which was discovered on the dead man's dressing table.
The interior, we found, was a kind of small strong-room--built of fire-brick, and lined with steel. It was filled with papers of all kinds neatly arranged.
We drew up a table, and the first packet my friend handed out was a substantial one of five pound notes, secured by an elastic band, beneath which was a slip on which the amount was pencilled. Securities of various sorts followed, and then large packets of parchment deeds which, on examination, we found related to his Devonshire property and his farms in Canada.
"Here's something!" cried Ambler at length, tossing across to me a small packet methodically tied with pink tape. "The old boy's love-letters--by the look of them."
I undid the loop eagerly, and opened the first letter. It was in a feminine hand, and proved a curious, almost unintelligible communication.
I glanced at the signature. My heart ceased its beating, and a sudden cry involuntarily escaped me, although next moment I saw that by it I had betrayed myself, for Ambler Jevons sprang to my side in an instant.
But next instant I covered the signature with my hand, grasped the packet swift as thought, and turned upon him defiantly, without uttering a word.
CHAPTER XI. CONCERNS MY PRIVATE AFFAIRS.
"What have you found there?" inquired Ambler Jevons, quickly interested, and yet surprised at my determination to conceal it from him.
"Something that concerns me," I replied briefly.
"Concerns you?" he ejaculated. "I don't understand. How can anything among the old man's private papers concern you?"
"This concerns me personally," I answered. "Surely that is sufficient explanation."
"No," my friend said. "Forgive me, Ralph, for speaking quite plainly, but in this affair we are both working towards the same end--namely, to elucidate the mystery. We cannot hope for success if you are bent upon concealing your discoveries from me."
"This is a private affair of my own," I declared doggedly. "What I have found only concerns myself."
He shrugged his shoulders with an air of distinct dissatisfaction.
"Even if it is a purely private matter we are surely good friends enough to be cognisant of one another's secrets," he remarked.
"Of course," I replied dubiously. "But only up to a certain point."
"Then, in other words, you imply that you can't trust me?"
"I can trust 

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