"The note I sent the Misses Rushford," said Vernon, quietly, "was written on a leaf from the notebook, which I tore out just as I did that one you have in your hand," and he sat down and stared out the window, across the gray dunes and the gray sea to the gray horizon. Collins, with compressed lips, held the two pieces of paper up to the light and compared their texture. Then he got out a small pocket magnifying glass and examined through it the writing on the note. "It's a tracing," he said, at last, "and a mighty clever piece of work. The paper, too, is very like." "But it's not the same," put in Vernon. "Oh, no, it's not the same." "Do you mean this is a forgery?" burst out Blake, hoarsely, snatching up the note and staring at it. "Undoubtedly," answered Collins, coolly, but his face was very dark. "The forger, clever as he was, could scarcely expect to be so fortunate as to duplicate the paper. And then, of course, he couldn't foresee that it would be turned over to you. But he did very well. Now let's have the story." "Miss Rushford had the note in her desk," said Vernon, shortly. "She missed it last night and went to tell her sister of the theft. When she returned to her room and began a systematic search, she found it slipped among some note-paper in the drawer where she had placed it. She returned it to me this morning." "Without suspecting that it was a forgery?" "Certainly." "And you didn't tell her?" "No." Collins sat for a moment staring down at the note. "Which reminds me," he remarked, at last, "that Markeld spent the evening with the Rushfords." "Well, what of it?" demanded Vernon, sharply, wheeling around. "What is it you mean to insinuate?" "My dear sir," answered Collins, suavely, "I insinuate nothing. I was merely remarking upon the coincidence. If I did not happen to know all the circumstances, I might have been led to suggest that, as only one Miss Rushford is devoted to you--" Vernon sprang to his feet with such wrath in his face that Collins stopped abruptly. "It was well you stopped," said Vernon, savagely. "Another word, and by heaven--" "Don't be a fool!" Collins broke in. "I'm not afraid of you nor your threats. This forgery, of course, is the work of that French spy--" A servant tapped at the door and handed in a card. Collins took it, glanced at it, and looked up with a little smile of satisfaction. "It's Tellier," he said. "I was expecting him; he was certain to come to us. Leave him to me," and he went out, closing the door behind him.