"We had neither pencil nor paper," Monsieur Louis said, "and the affair was urgent. I must be back in Norwich by eight o'clock."
"I will prepare the coffee, sir," Groves said, turning away. "If you require more light the switches are behind the door."
"Very good," Monsieur Louis said. "You need not have the slightest anxiety. I am here on your master's behalf."
Groves hesitated, and looked for a moment curiously around the room. He seemed as though he had something else to say, but checked himself at the last moment and withdrew. Monsieur Louis drew a little breath of relief.
He did not immediately proceed to work. He threw off his overcoat and lit a cigarette. His fingers were steady enough, but he was conscious of an unwonted sense of excitement. He was face to face with destiny. He had played before for great stakes, but never such as these. A single false step, an evil turn in the wheel of fortune, spelt death—and he was afraid to die. He moved to the sideboard. Everything there was as they had left it. He poured out some brandy and drank it off.
With fresh courage he moved to the safe, which stood in the corner of the room. It must be there, if anywhere, that this precious document lay. He tried his keys one by one. At last he found the right one. The great door swung slowly open.
He was spared all anxiety. There, on the top of a pile of legal-looking documents, leases, title-deeds, and the like, was a long envelope, and across it in Duncombe's sprawling writing these few words:—
"Entrusted to me by Miss Poynton.—Sept. 4th."
He grasped it in his fingers and tore open the envelope. As he read the single page of closely written writing his eyes seemed almost to protrude. He gave a little gasp. No wonder there were those who reckoned this single page of manuscript worth a great fortune. Every sentence, every word told its own story. It was a page of the world's history.
Then a strange thing happened. Some part of him rebelled against the instinct which prompted him carefully to fold and place in his breast-pocket this wonderful find of his. His nerves seemed suddenly frozen in his body. There was a curious numb sensation at the back of his neck which forbade him to turn round. His hands shook, his teeth chattered. The sweat of death was upon his forehead and despair in his heart. He had heard nothing, seen nothing; yet he knew that he was no longer alone.