“My dear Mr. Harleston,” remarked Sparrow, “all your actions at the cab of the sleeping horse were observed and noted, so why protest?”

“I’m not protesting; I’m simply stating two pertinent facts!” Harleston laughed.

“We will grant the fact that you’ve never seen us,” said Marston, “but that you have not got the articles in question, we,” with apologizing gesture, “beg leave to doubt.”

“You’re at full liberty to search my apartment,” Harleston answered.  “I’m not sensitive early in the morning, whatever I may be at night.”

“The letter is easy to conceal,” was the reply, “and the safe yonder is an impasse without your assistance.”

“The safe is not locked,” Harleston remarked.  “I think I neglected to turn the knob.  If you will—­”

“Don’t disturb yourself, I pray,” was the quick reply, the revolver glinting in his hand; “we will gladly relieve you of the trouble.”

“I was only about to say that if you try the door it will open for you,” Harleston chuckled.  “Go through it, sir,” he remarked to the younger, “and don’t, I beg of you, disturb the papers more than necessary.  The key to the locked drawer is in the lower compartment on the right.  Proceed, my elderly friend, to search the apartment; I’ll not balk you.  The thing’s rather amusing—­and entirely absurd.  If it were not—­if it didn’t strike my funny-bone—­I should probably put up some sort of a fight; as it is, you see I’m entirely acquiescent.  Your tiny automatics didn’t in the least intimidate me.  I could have landed you both as you entered.  I’ve got a gun of a much larger calibre right to my hand.  See!” and he lifted the pillow and exposed a 38.  “Want to borrow it?”

“Why didn’t you land us?” Marston asked, as he took the 38.

“It wouldn’t have been kind!” Harleston smiled.  “When visitors come at such an hour, they deserve to be received with every attention and courtesy—­particularly when they come on a mistaken impression and a fruitless quest.”

The man looked at Harleston doubtfully.  Just how much of this was bluff, he could not decide.  Harleston’s whole conduct was rather unusual—­the open door, the open safe, the unemployed revolver, were not in accordance with the game they were playing.  He should have made a fight, some sort of a fight, and not—­

“The letter’s not in the safe,” Sparrow reported.

“I didn’t think it was,” said the other, “but we had to make search.”

“You’re very welcome to look elsewhere and anywhere,” Harleston interjected.  “I’ll trust you not to pry into matters other than the letter.  By the way, whose was the letter?”

“His Majesty of Abyssinia!” was the answer.

“Taken by wireless, I presume.”

“Exactly!”

“Then, why so much bother, my friend?” Harleston asked.  “If you do not find it, you can get others by the same quick route.”

“The King of Abyssinia never duplicates a letter.”