Hanaud brushed the excuse aside.
"It is no extenuation. I OUGHT to have foreseen. Oh, but I will have no pity now," he cried, and as he ended the words abruptly his face changed. He lifted a trembling forefinger and pointed. There came a sudden look of life into his dull and despairing eyes.
He was pointing to a side-table on which were piled Mr. Ricardo’s letters.
"You have not opened them this morning?" he asked.
"No. You came while I was still in bed. I have not thought of them till now."
Hanaud crossed to the table, and, looking down at the letters, uttered a cry.
"There’s one, the big envelope," he said, his voice shaking like his hand. "It has a Swiss stamp."
He swallowed to moisten his throat. Ricardo sprang across the room and tore open the envelope. There was a long letter enclosed in a handwriting unknown to him. He read aloud the first lines of the letter:
"I write what I saw and post it tonight, so that no one may be before me with the news. I will come over tomorrow for the money."
A low exclamation from Hanaud interrupted the words.