"Your signature was all the writer had," she explained. "Your handwriting had to be inferred from that."
"Where did you get my signature? Oh, from the blank I filled up at Aix, I suppose. But no," and he looked at the card again, "the postmark shows that it was mailed at Cologne last night."
"The postmark is a fabrication."
"Then it was from the blank at Aix?"
"No," she said, and hesitated, an anxiety in her face he did not understand.
"Then where did you get it?" he persisted "Why shouldn't you tell me?"
"I will tell you," she answered, but her voice was almost inaudible. "It is right that you should know. You gave the signature to the man who examined your passport on the terrace of the Hotel Continental at Cologne, and who recommended you to the Kölner Hof. He also was one of ours."
Stewart was looking at her steadily.
"Then in that case," he said, and his face was gray and stern, "it was I, and no one else, you expected to meet at the Kölner Hof."
"Yes," she answered with trembling lips, but meeting his gaze unwaveringly.