The secretary blushed very much, no doubt on account of Maxence, who was sitting by the side of his employer. He was a very honest fellow; but there are certain little talents of which people do not like to boast; and the talent of imitating the writing of others is of the number, for the reason, that, fatally and at once, it suggests the idea of forgery.
“It was only for fun that I used to do that, sir,” he stammered.
“Would you be here if it had been otherwise?” said the commissary. “Only this time it is not for fun, but to do me a favor that I wish you to try again.”
And, taking out of his pocket the letter taken by M. de Tregars from the man in the restaurant,
“Examine this writing,” he said, “and see whether you feel capable of imitating it tolerably well.”
Spreading the letter under the full light of the lamp, the secretary spent at least two minutes examining it with the minute attention of an expert. And at the same time he was muttering,
“Not at all convenient, this. Hard writing to imitate. Not a salient feature, not a characteristic sign! Nothing to strike the eye, or attract attention. It must be some old lawyer’s clerk who wrote this.”
In spite of his anxiety of mind, the commissary smiled.
“I shouldn’t be surprised if you had guessed right.”
Thus encouraged,