"And the address was?"
"83, Charlemagne Street. Our van took the things there, and fetched them away last night."
"Thank you. And now one or two other questions. What name did the hirer give?"
"Eastover."
"And when they left your shop, how did they go away?"
"A cab was waiting at the door for them, and I walked out to it with them."
"There were only two of them, you think?"
"No. There was a third person waiting for them in the cab, and it was that very circumstance which made me anxious to have my things brought back as soon as possible. If I had been able to, I should have even declined to let them go."
"Why so?"
"Well, to tell you that would involve a story. But perhaps I had better tell you. It was in this way. About three years ago through a distant relative I got to know a man named Draper."
"Draper," I cried. "You don't mean—but there, I beg your pardon—pray go on."
"As I say, I got to know this man Draper, who was a South Sea trader. We met once or twice, and then grew more intimate. So friendly did we at last become that I even went so far as to put some money into a scheme he proposed to me. It was a total failure. Draper proved a perfect fraud and a most unbusinesslike person, and all I got out of the transaction were the cases of curios and weapons which this man Eastover hired from me. It was because, when I went out with my customers to their cab, I saw this man Draper waiting for them that I became uneasy about my things.
