“Because its water-mark shows it to be English paper, whereas all Russian official paper, as this is supposed to be, is manufactured by Yaronovski, of Moscow, and bears his name.”
This fact had never occurred to me, and taking up the paper I examined the water-mark, finding, to my surprise, the name of a well-known English mill.
“Then the attempts at imitating your handwriting are quite as unsatisfactory,” he went on. “Indeed, I have no proof that all those letters and words have not been made by yourself.”
“They have not,” I protested. “You seem determined not to believe in my innocence.”
“And the seal,” he continued, heedless of my interruption. “You expected that it would be regarded as irresistible proof. Well, in the first place I do not believe it was discovered on the body, as you allege; and, secondly, even if it had been, it is no absolute proof that the dead man was the culprit.”
“Why?” I inquired eagerly.
“Because it was not with that seal that the dummy envelope was secured,” he answered slowly, at the same time handing me the two impressions, and inviting me to compare them.
This I did with breathless eagerness, by the aid of the magnifying glass, and in astonishment was compelled to admit that he spoke the truth. There were several discrepancies in the quarterings of the arms that I had not before noticed, and I saw instantly that they did not correspond with those impressed upon the envelope. The amazing worthlessness of my discoveries held me embarrassed, and I stood helpless, and in silence, as the Minister hurled at me some bitter invectives, declaring that I had come to him with an ingenious story, and evidence that might have convinced a man less shrewd.
“Take your clumsily-forged documents and your attempt to reproduce my seal, and leave me at once!” he cried, in a terrible ebullition of wrath, gathering up the objects I had brought and tossing them back to me. “Your dastardly conduct is too despicable for words; but remember that to you, and you alone, your country owes the overwhelming catastrophe that must now inevitably fall upon it.”
With these ominous words ringing in my ears I stumbled out, knowing not whither I went, and scarcely responding to the greetings of the men I knew, who regarded me in askance. The great central staircase, up which climbed the brilliantly-uniformed representatives of all civilised countries on the face of the earth whenever the Minister held his receptions, I descended with heavy heart, and crossing the grey, silent courtyard, soon found myself amid the bustle of Parliament Street.