“Apparently so,” the young man answered. “It seemed to be standing in exactly the same place as where I had left it. I put it into my breast pocket, and it was only when I arrived here that I fancied the envelope seemed lighter. I went off by myself and tore it open. There was nothing inside but half a newspaper!”
“What about the envelope?” Peter Ruff asked. “That must have been the same sort of one as you had used or you would have noticed it?”
“It was,” the Honorable Maurice answered.
“It was a sort which you kept in your room?”
“Yes!” the young man admitted.
“The packet was changed, then, by some one in your room, or some one who had access to it,” Peter Ruff said. “How about your servant?”
“It was his evening off. I let him put out my things and go at seven o’clock.”
“You must tell me the nature of the contents of the packet,” Peter Ruff declared. “Don’t hesitate. You must do it. Remember the alternative.”
The young man did hesitate for several moments, but a glance into his sister’s appealing face decided him.
“It was our official reply to a secret communication from Russia respecting—a certain matter in the Balkans.”