"But surely—" I said, bewildered. "Look here, Mrs. Magnus, you aren't telling me everything. Where did you find this?"
"On his desk."
"When?"
"Three nights ago."
"You mean it had been lying there unnoticed ever since his death?"
"No," she answered hoarsely. "It had not been lying there unnoticed.
It was written that night."
I could only stare at her—at her trembling lips, at her bloodshot eyes, at her livid face.
"Then it's an imposture of some sort," I said at last.
"It is not an imposture," she answered, more hoarsely than ever. "My husband wrote those words."
"Nonsense!" I retorted impatiently. "Somebody's trying to impose on you, Mrs. Magnus. Leave this with me, and I'll get to the bottom of it."