As he stooped to the floor, a sudden feeling of nausea came over him. He seized the letters and as he held them, he began to choke. His throat seemed to form a solid lump.
It required a moment for him to recover after he regained his sitting position. He had picked up the loose letters hurriedly. In so doing he had added the final letter to the top of the pile. He was not aware of the fact, for he was fighting against an attack of temporary dizziness.
* * *
Duncan closed his eyes, and his senses returned. Mechanically he opened the letter that lay on top of the heap at the left. He began to read it, wearily, without actually noting the words. Then a sudden difference in the appearance of the note attracted his attention.
All of the previous letters had borne the introduction, "My dear Isaac." This one began with the simple statement, "Sir." Concentrating, Duncan followed each word. The task seemed laborious, his senses had become dulled. But even in his lethargic mental state, the full meaning of his uncle's writing burned itself into his mind with startling revelation. The letter read:
This is the end. For many years I have been a trusting fool. I believed in your friendship. I told you much. Now I know you for what you are — a fiend — a fiend that has assumed a human form! You have used the information that I have given you to prey upon helpless people. You have sought to injure me, but without avail. I know now why I was attacked in Singapore. I have found out the source of the plot upon my life in Russia. I thought the Reds were back of it. But you were the man who caused it! You have covered your tracks well. Only the man who tried to murder me in France could testify against you. He died beside me during an attack on the German trenches. He told me all, with his last breath. So you are safe. But your schemes can no longer reach me. I am on my guard. The secret that you seek will never be yours. I shall reveal it on my deathbed, and the one who hears it will be warned against you. No inkling of you and your evilness will ever appear in anything I write. I am too wise to trust such statements to paper. But my own words will tell—"
The letter fell from Bruce Duncan's hand. He had reached the end of the first page. He had learned all he needed.
Isaac Coffran was his uncle's enemy! The old man who had appeared so friendly had gained the secret after all. It was his messenger who had stolen the package and the envelopes!
Rising, Duncan felt that former feeling of exhilaration. His mind, suddenly responsive, grasped the details of what had happened.
Some one had visited his uncle. In his delirium, the dying man had fancied that Bruce had come at last.