“Then the writing is yours, eh?” the Earl asked abruptly. “If it is, you must be aware who forged the seal.”
“The writing certainly contains all the characteristics of mine, but I am not absolutely sure it is not a forgery. In any case, I am confident that the document you gave me I handed back to you.” Then I explained carefully, and in detail, the events which occurred from the time he gave the treaty into my possession, up to the moment I handed it back to him.
“But how can you account for giving back to me a blank sheet of paper in an envelope secured by a forged seal?” he asked, regarding me with undisguised suspicion. “You do not admit even taking it from your pocket, neither have you any suspicion of the friend with whom you lunched. I should like to hear his independent version.”
“That is impossible,” I answered.
“Why?” he asked, pricking up his ears and scenting a mystery.
“Because he is dead.”
At that moment our conversation was interrupted by the sharp ringing of the bell of the telegraph instrument near us, and an instant later the telegraphist in charge entered, and seated himself at the table.
Click, click, click—click—click began the needle, and next moment the clerk, turning to the Earl, exclaimed,—
“An important message from St Petersburg, your Lordship.”
“Read it as it comes through,” the Earl replied breathlessly, walking towards the instrument and bending eagerly over it.