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“Will you kindly regard these missives and tell me what they suggest to you?” he said.

The Chief studied them for a moment. “Simple enough,” he remarked. “Both were written on the same machine. The top of the letter e is clogged with ink, and the letter t is slightly out of alignment.”

Chan grinned and took them back. “Long time confinement in station house does not cause you to grow rusty. Yes—it is just as you say. Two notes are identical, both being written on this faithful little machine. Happy to say our visit here is not without fruit. I must now put typewriter in place so our call will go unsuspected. Or would go that way, if it was not for lingering odor of good friend Murdock’s cigar.”

The house detective looked guilty. “Say, Charlie—I never thought of that.”

“Finish your weed. Damage is now done. But take care luxury of present job does not cause brain to stagnate.”

Murdock did not smoke again, but let the cigar go out in his hand. Charlie continued to explore the trunk. He had about completed his search without further good fortune, when in the most remote corner of the lowest compartment, he came upon something which seemed to claim his interest.

He walked up to his Chief. In the palm of his hand lay a man’s ring, a large diamond in a heavy setting of gold. His superior stared at it. “Take good look,” Chan advised, “and fix same in your mind.”

“More jewelry, Charlie?”

Chan nodded. “Seeking to solve this case, it seems we wander lost in jewel store. Natural, perhaps, since we deal with Hollywood people.” He restored the ring