"Your coffre-fort—what do you say?—strong-box—safe—is cleverly concealed, Colonel Stanistreet."
There was no direct reply, but after a moment Stanistreet announced quietly: "This seems to be an authentic paper…. Monsieur Duchemin, what knowledge precisely have you of the nature of this document?"
"Surely monsieur cannot have overlooked the circumstance that its seals were intact."
"True," Stanistreet admitted. "Still…."
"I trust Monsieur does not question my good faith?"
"Why not?" Stanistreet enquired drily.
"Monsieur!"
"Oh, damn your play-acting, sir! If you can be capable of one infamy, you are capable of more. None the less, you are right about an Englishman's word: here is your money. Count it and—get out!"
"Thanks"—the impostor's tone was an impertinently exact imitation of
Stanistreet's—"I mean to."
"Permit me to excuse myself," Stanistreet added; and Lanyard heard the muffled scrape of chair-legs on the rug as the Englishman got up.