Sobieska smiled indulgently. "A man of your varied metropolitan experience would scarcely write a letter as he would a thesis for a University degree. Whoever wrote that epistle had doubtless a work of rhetoric at his elbow, fearful of mistakes. Look at it yourself," and he pushed the paper over to Carter. It was, indeed, a studied composition of good proportions and well rounded sentences.
"I have heard you talk," continued his instructor, "and I felt satisfied that Major Carter, if a spy, would hardly have wasted his efforts in such a prim presentation of his facts." He glanced at his watch. "He would have doubtless used cipher. Josef is due in just one minute now. There he comes," he said, as there was a low rap at the door. "Come in."
Punctuality outdone, Josef entered and handed Sobieska a note. Without even glancing at it, the latter tossed it on the table. Picking up the sheet on which were the pasted fragments, he handed it to the Servitor, watching him closely with narrowing eyes. Without a tremor the paper was received, examined, read, and handed back to Sobieska with a smile.
"Well, Excellency?"
"Ever see that before, Josef?"
"I think so, Excellency. Did you find them in my room?" he inquired with quiet effrontery.
"They were found there. I found them," replied Sobieska coolly, not yet despairing of breaking down the impassive wall with which Josef had surrounded his thoughts.
"Then I have seen them before," the Servitor answered as though courteously acknowledging an irrefutable logic. "I took them there to interpret them," he said as if willing to make an explanation though not admitting any necessity. "I found them beneath a certain window last night—in the courtyard of the inn," he concluded with a significant glance at Carter. Then boldly his eyes challenged both men.
"It's a lie," said Carter contemptuously. Josef smiled.
"Your word—the word of a stranger—against mine," he sneered. "Shall I appeal to Her Highness?"