A most unfounded statement, born of ignorance of business, and a desire to seem to himself as one who understood it. Suddenly he started, and singled out the cheque he had given to Hirsch in the autumn. It bore on it, as endorsement, in a bold, free handwriting, the name, 'Michael Petrovitch.'
'Hola!' he said; 'a namesake of mine. Stay, though. This apostle of our cause does not keep to one handwriting.'
He walked to the mantelpiece, and taking thence the letter he had received in the morning, he compared the writing.
'H'm—wonder what this means?' he said, returning to his seat. 'The two writings are not the same, and yet there is something in this writing on the cheque which I seem to have seen before. We'll try for an explanation before he leaves this room.'
He went on steadily with his self-imposed task of comparing each cheque with the entry in the book. He had half done them when a ring at the front door bell made him look up.
'Aha! the mysterious Petrovitch is punctual,' he said to himself.
It was Petrovitch, though perhaps those who had seen most of him in the last few months would have failed to recognise him. He looked at least ten years younger. The handsome long light beard was gone, and he was close shaved save for a heavy drooping blond moustache.
As Count Litvinoff heard his visitor's steps upon the stairs he settled himself back in his chair, with an assumption of a business air, much like that of a very young lawyer about to receive a new client.
There was a sharp rap at the room door.
'Come in,' he said.