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“
No
matter
,
”
said
the
detective
.
Renauld
looked
at
him
for
a
moment
,
but
the
magistrate
was
continuing
his
questions
.
“
To
pass
to
another
matter
,
are
you
acquainted
with
the
name
of
Duveen
,
M
.
Renauld
?
”
“
Duveen
?
”
said
Jack
.
“
Duveen
?
”
He
leant
forward
,
and
slowly
picked
up
the
paper
-
knife
he
had
swept
from
the
table
.
As
he
lifted
his
head
,
his
eyes
met
the
watching
ones
of
Giraud
.
“
Duveen
?
No
,
I
can
’
t
say
I
am
.
”
“
Will
you
read
this
letter
,
M
.
Renauld
?
And
tell
me
if
you
have
any
idea
as
to
who
the
person
was
who
addressed
it
to
your
father
?
”
Jack
Renauld
took
the
letter
,
and
read
it
through
,
the
colour
mounting
in
his
face
as
he
did
so
.
“
Addressed
to
my
father
?
”
The
emotion
and
indignation
in
his
tones
were
evident
.
“
Yes
.
We
found
it
in
the
pocket
of
his
coat
.
”
“
Does
—
”
He
hesitated
,
throwing
the
merest
fraction
of
a
glance
towards
his
mother
.
The
magistrate
understood
.
“
As
yet
—
no
.
