Mr. Knowles gave way another point. He was, constitutionally, too much of a diplomatist to concede more than a point at a time.
"So far as appearances go, I am bound to admit that I think it possible that it is her Grace's writing."
Then the Duke let fly at him--at this perfectly innocent man. But, of course, Mr. Knowles was long since inured.
"Perhaps you would like me to send for an expert in writing? Or perhaps you would prefer that I should send for half-a-dozen? And by the time that they had sent in their reports, and you had reported on their reports, and they had reported on your report of their reports, and some one or other of you had made up his mind, the Duchess would be dead. Yes, sir, and you'd have murdered her!"
His Grace hurled this frightful accusation at Mr. Knowles, as if Mr. Knowles had been a criminal standing in the dock.
While the Duke had been collecting and discharging his nice derangement of epithets his fingers had been examining the interior of the envelope which had held the letter which purported to be written by his wife. When his fingers reappeared he was holding something between his first finger and his thumb. He glanced at this himself. Then he held it out towards Mr. Knowles.
Again his voice was trembling.
"If this letter is not from the Duchess, how came that to be in the envelope?"
Mr. Knowles endeavoured to see what the Duke was holding. It was so minute an object that it was a little difficult to make out exactly what it was, and the Duke appeared to be unwilling to let it go.
So his Grace explained: