It was an octavo sheet of memorandum paper with the firm’s name printed on the top, and bore the following typewritten letter:
“20th November.
“H. A. Schoofs, Esq.
“I should be obliged if you would please ask Mr. Vanderkemp to come over and see me here at 10.00 a.m. on Wednesday, 26th inst., as I wish him to undertake negotiations for a fresh purchase. He may have to go to Stockholm at short notice.”
The note was signed “R. A. Duke,” with the attendant flourish with which French had grown familiar.
He sat staring at the sheet of paper, trying to fit this new discovery into the scheme of things. But it seemed to him an insoluble puzzle. Was Mr. Duke not really the innocent, kindly old gentleman he had fancied, but rather a member, if not the author, of some deep-seated conspiracy? If he had written this note, why had he not mentioned the fact when Vanderkemp was being discussed? Why had he shown surprise when he received Schoofs’ letter saying that the traveller had crossed to London? What was at the bottom of the whole affair?
An idea struck him, and he examined the letter more closely.
“Are you sure this is really Mr. Duke’s signature?” he asked slowly.
Mr. Schoofs looked at him curiously.
“Why, yes,” he answered. “At least, it never occurred to me to doubt it.”