"Just another moment. Touching those documents relating to the affair of
Christopher Craig's brother—"
"Shut up!"
"—it is one of the strangest inadvertencies you ever heard of, Mr. Bullard, but the fact remains that, eighteen months ago, I delivered to you—not the originals but copies—"
Bullard wheeled round. "Don't try that game, Marvel. You are quite capable of forgery, but I made certain that they were originals before I burned them."
"Ah, you burned them! What a pity! So you can't compare them with the documents I hold—in a very safe place, Mr. Bullard."
"I should not take the trouble in any case. Now will you clear out or be thrown?"
"You make it very hard for me. Do you wish me to take the originals to
Mr. Christopher Craig?"
"Pray do. He's dead."
"Dead!" Mr. Marvel took a step backward. "Dear, dear!" He raised his hat to his face as though to screen his emotion and smiled into it. "When did it happen?"
"A few days ago. Now, once and for all—"