He turned to the lawyer. “Can’t you get the judge to take my word that I know all the circumstances, and can swear to Mr. Orrington’s innocence?”
The lawyer went up to the bench and had a brief conversation with the judge. In a few moments he returned. “I hope I’ve solved the difficulty,” said he. “The judge will accept your statement and Mr. Orrington’s together. If you will explain the whole thing to him, he will see that it goes to no one save the Attorney General.”
“You’d better do it,” said Tom briefly.
“I suppose I’ll have to,” I replied. We adjourned to the judge’s private office and told the whole story.
“I can understand,” said the judge, as I finished, “that the story of the disappearance of the French battleship might be a lucky guess, once given the letter of which you speak, but the narrative as told by you seems almost too incredible to be admitted as evidence. Is this letter containing the second message still in your possession?”
“No,” I said, and hesitated.
Tom broke in. “It’s in my sister’s hands, judge. She has had it ever since that first night. If you will wait I will get some radium from my laboratory and show the hidden message to you.”
“It could not, then, disappear in the time which has elapsed?” queried the judge.
“No,” answered Tom, decisively. “I have been experimenting with inks of that kind since I knew of this, and I should say unhesitatingly that it would still be there, although I’ve never happened to see it myself. I’ll bring the things back at once. My motor is at the door.”