"Seal it," I ordered as he held it out to me. This occupied a longish time; and in his agitation he burnt his fingers badly with the wax. "So far so good," I said. "Now a note to the priest that the ceremony cannot take place. It can't very well, unless you wish to marry me," I added with a short unpleasant laugh.
With a great effort he succeeded in writing the note; and again held it out for me to read. "Now, take these to the door and tell your servant to give the one to the priest and the other to the messenger from W. Mischen. Not a syllable more. I shall be behind you with this"; and I held up the revolver.
I rang the bell and we crossed the room together. I unlocked the door and stood close behind him with the muzzle of my weapon pressed close to his ribs.
"My finger is on the trigger," I whispered, as the servant knocked and he opened the door. He was too abjectly frightened to try any tricks this time, and delivered the message just as I had told him. The next instant the door was safely locked once more, and he tottered back to his seat.
"You can take your own time now to recover; but you have a good deal more writing to do, so you had better pull yourself together."
A silence, lasting some minutes followed; and I used the time to read the paper which I had secured and to make a rough précis of it. He glanced up once or twice at me the while, and when I put the paper back into the envelope, he asked: "What are you going to do with that?"
I paid no heed to his question.
"Are you ready? Then go over to your desk again and write me a true account of how you got this."
This threw him again into a condition of trembling fear. "What do you want it for?" he stammered.
"I'll give you two minutes to make a start in"; and I drew out my watch.