The latter took it, glanced at the seal and hesitated, for it bore the Imperial crown.
"Do you intend that I should open this?" he asked.
"I wish you to do so," answered Pachmann.
With fingers that trembled a little, the Captain loosened the seal, lifted the flap, and drew out the sheet of paper which lay within. It was an ivory-finished white, almost as stiff as a card, the entire upper left quarter occupied by the Imperial crown and monogram, the other three quarters covered by writing in a large and rather stiff hand, with a scrawling signature at the bottom. The Captain glanced at this signature, then, his face very grave, read the missive slowly and carefully. Finally he returned the sheet to its envelope, and handed it back to Pachmann, his eyes meeting the Admiral's with a kind of awed wonder.
"I am at your service," he said. "Will you...."
There was a tap at the door. The Captain went to it and opened it, standing so that his body filled the doorway. He exchanged a word with some one, and then closed the door and turned back into the room, a sheaf of papers in his hand.
"Will you not sit down?" he asked.
"We shall be but a moment," said Pachmann. "That was the wireless man, was it not?"
"Yes."
"Among the messages you have in your hand is one from Lépine, Prefect of the Paris Service du Surété. He asks whether you have aboard in stateroom 514 a man named Ignace Vard, accompanied by his daughter."