“Well, what did it?”
“The letters of Louis Lacombe that you gave to her husband.”
He struck his forehead and said:
“Did she think that I could do such a thing!...But, of course she would. Imbecile that I am!”
Madame Andermatt was now revived. Daspry took from his pocket a small package exactly similar to the one that Mon. Andermatt had carried away.
“Here are your letters, Madame. These are the genuine letters.”
“But.... the others?”
“The others are the same, rewritten by me and carefully worded. Your husband will not find anything objectionable in them, and will never suspect the substitution since they were taken from the safe in his presence.”
“But the handwriting—-”
“There is no handwriting that cannot be imitated.”