"You will give a hundred dollars?" Pearce exclaimed, in an eager tone.

"Yes, I will."

"You will pay the money right down?"

"Yes."

"I will show the letter."

The old man went down in his pocket, and drew forth the time-stained letter he had been reading when the detective first looked in upon him, and drawing closer to the light, said:

"I won't show you the whole letter, but I will read just one portion to you," and he read as follows:

"DEAR Tom,--There has been one thing on my mind for a long time. I am getting old, and at any time might die, and I have a secret which I feet I should share with you in order to guard against accidents. Upon that terrible night when Renie was placed in my care, there was also consigned to my keeping a box--a sealed box--which I was never to open until Renie should reach the age of twenty-one, or be called for by parties claiming her as their child. I was given to understand that the box contained proofs of the dear child's birth and parentage, and it was hinted that some day she would inherit an immense fortune. I never told you about the box, but when I return I will confide to you the place where it is concealed, so that you will be prepared to carry out the trust in case anything should happen to me before Renie becomes of age, or is claimed by those who placed her in my charge."

The remainder of the letter had no bearing upon the case of Renie, but was devoted to general matters.

After Tom Pearce had concluded the reading there followed a momentary silence. The man Garcia appeared to be lost in deep thought. The old smuggler also appeared to be lost in deep meditation.

After an interval Garcia said:

"From that letter it would appear that the proofs of the girl's ident.i.ty were in your wife's possession?"

"Yes."

"Did she keep her promise to you?"

"You mean did she inform me' where the box was hidden?"

"Yes."

"She did not."

"And she died without making the revelation?"

"Yes, she died very suddenly."

"Did you ever search over her papers?"

"I did."

"And never came across the slightest clew?"

"Never!"

"Why was it she did not make a confidant of you?"

"Well, I was a pretty wild sort of man in those days, and it's my idea that many precious jewels are hidden in that box."

The eyes of the man Garcia glistened as he asked:

"What makes you think so?"

"Well, my old woman let fall many strange hints now and then, and always said that Renie would be rich some day--immensely rich."

"She meant when claimed by her friends?"

"Yes; but she once said that Renie would be rich whether her friends claimed her or not; and what is more, money was always ready when anything was needed for the girl."

"But the girl has been allowed to run loose."

"Not altogether; no, sir, not altogether; Renie has received an expensive education, and my wife always found the money to pay the bills; the girl thinks she was educated out of my hard earnings, but never a dollar or my money went for her support until after the old woman died!"

"Have you ever searched for the box?"

"I have."

"Do you suppose your wife ever opened it?"

"That I cannot tell, but once when she and I were in the City of New York, we read about a great singer who had some magnificent jewels, and my wife said to me: 'I'll wager I could-show jewels handsomer and richer than that critter's got, and they claim hers are valued at a hundred thousand dollars.'"

The detective heard all these strange revelations, and he made up his mind that there was a big job falling into his hands.

"You say you have searched for the box?"

"Yes."

"And never found it or gained any clew as to its whereabouts?"

"Never."

"Has Renie any knowledge of the box?"

"I don't know whether my wife ever made a confidant of the child."

"Has the girl ever spoken of it?"

"Never."

"And you have never mentioned it to her?"

"Never."

"Who was with your wife when she died?"

"Renie."

"She may have made a final revelation to the girl!"