"It is not a cock-and-bull story. I, myself, saw your signature," said the Marques de Arbiol.
"My signature? Impossible."
"My good friend, I tell you I saw it with my own eyes. 'Antonio Salabert, Duke de Requena,'" replied Arbiol, very gravely.
"It cannot be; it is impossible!" repeated the Duke, walking up and down the room in the most violent excitement. "It must be a forgery."
Arbiol smiled scornfully.
"It bore your seal."
"My seal?" he exclaimed, with ready parry. "Then the forgery was committed in my own house. You cannot imagine what scoundrels I have about me. I should need a hundred eyes." Foaming with rage, he rang the bell.
"Now we shall see; we will find out whether I have been deceived or no. Send Llera in here," he said to the servant who appeared. "And all the clerks—immediately, this instant!"
Arbiol glanced at his companions, and shrugged his shoulders. But Requena, though he saw this, did not choose to notice it; he went on growling, snorting, uttering the most violent interjections, and walking to and fro. Presently Llera made his appearance, followed by a group of abject-looking clerks, ill-dressed and common. Salabert placed himself in front of them, with his arms crossed, and said vehemently:
"Look here, Llera, I mean to find out who is the scoundrel who presented a tender, in my name, with a forged copy of my signature, for the purchase of the S—— and V—— line of railway. Do you know anything of the matter?"