"Stop," said Colonel Tempest, hoarsely, the date on the ragged sheet he had just seen suggesting a new idea. "You're too young. You're not five and thirty. By —— it's nearly sixteen years ago. You weren't in it. You couldn't have been in it. How did you come by that? Whom did you have it from?"
"From one who'll tell no tales," returned Marshall. "He was sick of it. He had tried twice, and he was near his end, and I took it off him just before he died."
"Did he die?" said Colonel Tempest. "I am not so sure of that."
"I am," said the man; "or I'd never have had nothing to do with the business."
"How long have you been with Mr. Tempest?"
"A matter of three months. He engaged me when he came back from Russia in the spring."
"You will leave at once. That, of course, is understood."
"Yes. I will give warning to-night if——" and the man glanced at the packet in Colonel Tempest's hand.
Without another word they exchanged papers. Colonel Tempest did not tear the document that had cost him so much into a thousand pieces. He looked at it, recognized that it was genuine, put it in his pocket, and buttoned his coat over it. Then he got out a note-book and pencil.
"And now," he said, "the others. How am I to get at them?"