“You might let me see some of his other letters.”
In a few seconds half a dozen were produced, and French began whistling below his breath as he sat comparing the signatures, using a lens which he took from his pocket. After he had examined each systematically, he laid them down on the table and sat back in his chair.
“That was stupid of me,” he announced. “I should have learnt all I wanted without asking for these other letters. That signature is forged. See here, look at it for yourself.”
He passed the lens to Schoofs, who in his turn examined the name.
“You see, the lines of that writing are not smooth; they are a mass of tiny shakes and quivers. That means that they have not been written quickly and boldly; they have been slowly drawn or traced over pencil. Compare one of these other notes and you will see that while at a distance the signatures look identical, in reality they are quite different. No, Mr. Duke never wrote that. I am afraid Mr. Vanderkemp has been the victim of some trick.”
Schoofs was visibly excited. He hung on the other’s words and nodded emphatically at his conclusions. Then he swore comprehensively in Dutch. “Good heavens, Inspector!” he cried. “You see the significance of all that?”
French glanced at him keenly.
“In what way?” he demanded.
“Why, here we have a murder and a robbery, and then we have this, occurring at the very same time. . . . Well, does it not look suggestive?”
“You mean the two things are connected?”