"Perhaps you exaggerate. If these forgeries are so perfect—"
"Of course they are perfect. No man in the world could have done better. But they are forgeries. Why are you so stupid? A bond is a work of art. To those who have eyes it has the signature of the creator in every line. So is a forgery a work of art. Look at a connoisseur in an art gallery. Without any catalogue he will study the pictures and he will say, 'That is a Velasquez, that is a Rembrandt, that is an El Greco.' So there are men in the world who will look at forgeries of bonds and say, 'That is a So-and-so, that is a Somebody, that is a Urivetzky.' It makes no difference if the Urivetzky is most like the original. There are still men who will recognize it."
"It is hardly likely to fall into their hands. And it was to disarm their suspicion that we had the story sent out that you had been killed."
"And so perhaps you make more suspicion. This man Templar is not a fool — I have heard too much of him."
"He will be taken care of also," said the man known as Pongo. "I have been working all day—"
He was interrupted by a knock on the door. A servant came in as Quintana answered and turned towards the eliminator of problems.
"There is someone to speak to you on the telephone, senior," he said.
The square man gestured smugly at Urivetzky.
"You see?" he said. "Perhaps this is the report I've been waiting for."
He got up and went out; and the Saint straightened the kinks out of his neck and spine. He had done as good a job of eavesdropping as he could have hoped to do, and he had no complaints. Nearly all the questions in his mind had been answered.