"Well," responded his Chief, "it's also the only way of getting it from mine. Nevertheless, Sanford, somebody has possessed himself of a sheet or two, and used it for fraudulent purposes." Sanford stared, but said nothing. "Now,"--the chief grew involuntarily more brisk and business-like--"we must clear this matter up. You can give me samples of the handwriting of every one of our men, can't you?" "I suppose I can, sir, of one sort or another; letters, reports--" "Samples of any sort will do, Sanford. Let me have them as soon as possible." Sanford arose, hesitated, and then said: "If you would trust me, sir, I might--but you have sent for Carnegie?" "Yes; it's about this business. What were you going to say, Sanford?" "I know all their hands so well, sir, I was about to offer my services, but--" "It's a good idea; thank you, thank you. I think I'll give you both a chance at it. Now, bring me the specimens, Sanford. We will talk this over again." In half an hour, Carnegie presented himself. He was a small, old man, with a shrewd face and keen, intelligent eye. "I've got some work for you, Carnegie," began the Chief, waiving all ceremony. "It's of the kind you like, too." "Ah!" Carnegie dropped his hat upon a chair, rubbed his hands softly together and smiled upon his patron, looking as if at that instant ready and anxious to pounce upon any piece of work that was "of the kind he liked." "It's a forgery on this office," went on the Chief, as quietly as if he had said, it's an invitation to tea. "And you'll have a variety of handwritings to gloat over; Sanford is looking them up." "Ah!" said Carnegie, and that was all. Some men could not have said more in a folio. As Carnegie passed out of the Chief's office, the boy, George, entered it. He had found Mr. Vernet, and that gentleman would present himself right away. And he did, almost at the heels of his herald; scrupulously dressed, upright, handsome, and courteous as usual. Perfectly aware as he was that his Chief had not summoned him there without a motive, and tolerably sure that this motive was out of the regular business routine, his countenance was as serene as if he were entering a ball-room, his manner just as calm and courtly. "I hope I have not interfered with any man[oe]uvre of yours, Van," said the Chief, smiling as he proffered his hand. "Not at all, sir. I was just in and preparing for an hour or two of rest." And Vernet pressed the outstretched hand. "I am glad of this opportunity, sir." "The fact is--" began the Chief, after Vernet had ensconced himself in the chair opposite his own--"the fact is, I want to talk over this Englishman's business a little, in a confidential way." "Yes?" The change that crossed Vernet's face was scarcely perceptible. "You see, just between us, I have no report from Stanhope, and none from you. And I want, very much, to get some new idea on the subject, soon." Vernet scanned his face for a moment, then: