"I remember hearing of Mr. Silwood's death," said Lord Prestonkirk, "in the north of Italy some weeks ago. Cholera, was it not?"
"So it was said," replied Gilbert. "My father received the intelligence in a letter from the Syndic of Camajore, the place of Mr. Silwood's death; a certificate of the death accompanied the letter. Here they are," Gilbert continued, taking them from his pocket, and placing them before the Ambassador. "Please read them."
"The certificate is in the usual form," said Lord Prestonkirk, "and the Syndic's letter shows that everything was done for the unfortunate man that could be done. That is satisfactory."
"I have just come from Camajore," remarked Gilbert, "where I saw the Syndic. You will notice that in his letter he speaks of Mr. Silwood having left certain effects; they will be handed over to me on my obtaining the proper authority."
"And you wish my help in the matter?"
"Yes, your Excellency; but this is only the beginning. I told you I had a strange story to unfold," said Gilbert. "To put the matter as briefly as possible, I—or rather, I should say, my father and I—have reason to believe that the certificate of Mr. Silwood's death is a false certificate, that the letter of the Syndic is nothing but a clever piece of fiction, and that Silwood is alive."
"What!" exclaimed the Ambassador. "Are you quite serious in making these statements?"
He looked at Gilbert incredulously.
"I certainly should not make them," answered Gilbert, gravely, "unless there was good ground for them. And as I do not believe that Silwood is dead, it follows that I do not believe his body lies buried at Camajore. It is regarding this that I beseech your Excellency's assistance."
The Ambassador was silent, but his face wore a perplexed expression.