I put back some of the things Barosa’s men had left littered about, brewed myself some strong coffee, and set to work.
I first read through again very carefully the forged letter which had been sent to Volheno. That it was the work of an enemy who was well versed in my movements was of course on the surface. My friendship with the man to whom it was addressed, my secret knowledge of the house in the Rua Catania, my business in regard to these Beira concessions, these three points told their story as plainly as the attempt proved the ingenious malignity of the writer, and his intention to cause Barosa and his friends to suspect me of treachery. The blow was aimed at my life.
There was only one man in all Lisbon who could have the needed information and would have the motive.
Sampayo.
Jealousy was one motive, and fear of what I knew about him another. And he was just the sort of cunning beast to go to work in this mole-like way. He had reckoned that Barosa’s people would accept without question such a proof of my treachery and act upon it. And in all probability they would have done so, but for my conversation with Barosa on the night of the reception and his conviction of my good faith.
But there was another point. He must have known that the contents of the letter would be at once passed on to Barosa. There was therefore some one about Volheno in league with the revolutionary party, and that some one must be sufficiently high in his confidence to be able to get the letter and send it to his friends.
I must find that man out; and then I studied the little slip of paper which Maral had inadvertently given me with the letter.
The line of nonsense ran as follows.
“Real effects to you truly. You know what this only can mean. 134”
Absolute gibberish of course. But I had the key.