A DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE.
"He's gone for a couple of days," observed Vicot bluntly, as he opened the door of Andrew's apartment to Radwalader, about noon of the following day. "He left a note for you. It's on his desk."
"I'll come in and read it," answered Radwalader, with his customary lack of manifest surprise. "It may require an answer."
He pulled off his gloves in a leisurely manner, as he entered the little salon, and stood looking down at the note addressed to him.
"Perhaps," he added, "you'll save me the trouble of opening this by giving me a brief epitome of its contents."
"He didn't honour me with his confidence," said Vicot. "And he left the note sealed."
Radwalader turned the envelope, flap up.
"I see you've been careful to restore it to its original condition," he remarked. "You're skilful at this kind of thing, my friend—uncommonly skilful. I fail to perceive the slightest evidence of your tampering."
"Then why not give me the benefit of the doubt?" demanded the other sullenly.