“I stole it from the table whereon it was displayed.”
“Stole it!” he echoed.
Slowly he turned the brass stamp over in his hand as if deep in thought; then, with brows knit in anger, he looked me straight in the face, exclaiming bluntly,—
“Your story is an absolute tissue of lies from beginning to end.”
His words staggered me. I had expected him to be eager to further probe the mystery, and try and elucidate the manner in which Dudley had manufactured the dummy and exchanged it for the secret convention. Instead of this he was distrustful and suspicious; indeed, he boldly accused me of attempting to wilfully mislead him and conceal the truth.
“I have told you no lies. Every word I have uttered is the truth,” I answered, with fierce indignation.
“You certainly never obtained possession of this seal in the manner in which you would have me believe, for the detectives sent to Staines had strict injunctions to search for any object that would lead them to suppose the dead man was not what he represented himself to be, and I made a special request that any seals discovered might be submitted to me for examination. If this had been in the dead man’s pockets it would have been brought to me.”
“But I tell you it was among the articles found upon him. I picked it up from the Coroner’s table, and finding it was not missed, brought it to you, rather than inform the police of our suspicions, which I understood you desired should, for the present, be kept secret.”
“I do not believe you,” he retorted angrily.
“Ask whoever searched the body, and they will no doubt remember finding the seal,” I answered.