"Adrien," he said, in a voice charged with emotion, "Adrien, I can bear this no longer. Give this foul accusation the lie. I know, my dear fellow, as surely as I know that I did not write it myself, that you had nothing to do with the accursed signature. But, for Heaven's sake, tell the others so too."
Adrien returned the friendly clasp with a smile that lit up his whole face; then looking round, he said quietly:
"I did not write it; I know nothing of it."
Lord Barminster rose from his seat at the sound of his son's voice, and put his hand on Adrien's shoulder; then, as if half ashamed of his pardonable emotion, he turned to the inspector.
"You hear, sir, Mr. Leroy knows nothing of the matter."
"That, my lord," returned the inspector respectfully, "would not justify me in leaving here without him. I fear he must accompany me; my instructions under the warrant are too strict. Mere denial is, of course, a common matter, and a usual one--begging your pardon, my lord"--for the old man had started indignantly.
"I should suggest, my lord," continued the inspector hurriedly, "that an alibi would be of the most service. I do not say for one moment that Mr. Leroy did commit the forgery; but, of course, he will be able to prove where he was on the twenty-second of last month, at three o'clock."
Shelton's face brightened. He wheeled round on his friend.
"Adrien," he exclaimed, "tell us where you were on that day; not to satisfy me, you know that, but to get this folly over."
Leroy gazed sadly at him, but remained silent; and Shelton grew hot, and then white with irritation, at this inexplicable silence.