“Yet,” said Mr. Templeton, frowning, perplexed, “this does not make you what you claim to be. Rather does it show you to be his late lordship's—”
“There's more to come,” said Mr. Caryll, and placed another document before the secretary. It was an extract from the register of St. Etienne of Maligny, relating to his mother's death.
“Do you know, sir, in what year this lady went through a ceremony of marriage with my father—the late Lord Ostermore? It was in 1690, I think, as the lady will no doubt confirm.”
“To what purpose, this?” quoth Mr. Templeton.
“The purpose will be presently apparent. Observe that date,” said Mr. Caryll, and he pointed to the document in Mr. Templeton's hand.
Mr. Templeton read the date aloud—“1692”—and then the name of the deceased—“Antoinette de Beaulieu de Maligny. What of it?” he demanded.
“You will understand that when I show you the paper I took from this desk, the paper that I obtained as a consequence of my violence to Mr. Green. I think you will consider, sir, that if ever the end justified the means, it did so in this case. Here was something very different from the paltry matter of treason that is alleged against me.”
And he passed the secretary a third paper.
Over Mr. Templeton's shoulder, Rotherby and his mother, who—drawn by the overpowering excitement that was mastering them—had approached in silence, were examining the document with wide-open, startled eyes, fearing by very instinct, without yet apprehending the true nature of the revelation that was to come.
“God!” shrieked her ladyship, who took in the meaning of this thing before Rotherby had begun to suspect it. “'Tis a forgery!”