To test him, as well as to interrupt his search, I made a feint of leaving. “I will go now,” I said and stepped toward the door. “No, by Heaven, not until this thing is cleared,” he cried, and rushing to the door he locked it, pocketed the key, and hurried back to the desk. Knowing the man, I had of course taken the precaution of having my own weapon with me, and was about to take it out when another thought struck me. Instead of the revolver, I took out a letter from the Corsican, Prelot, which had been forwarded to me that morning. “What is there to be cleared up?” I asked, in the same steady, stern tone I had used before. He found his revolver then and holding it behind him turned round. “You have made a lying charge against me. You say you have the proofs. Give me them.” “I refuse to do anything of the sort.” “I think you will,” he replied, with a cunning leer, and he covered me. “Do you dare to threaten me?” “Hand them over at once. Don’t fool me.” I hesitated a moment. “I give you five seconds,” he thundered. “I had certain information in this letter,” and I held up the Corsican’s. “Give it to me.” I folded it up and threw it close to him. With a chuckle he stooped and picked it up, and as he began to read it I took out my own weapon. The door was locked and he might be really dangerous when he learnt the peril which menaced him. CHAPTER XV IN THE FLUSH OF SUCCESS My precaution proved to be unnecessary. As Sampayo read the first page of the letter his expression was merely one of perplexity. Prelot had begun with a recital of the places he had visited since writing to me before, and this told nothing of any significance. Sampayo read it hurriedly and turning the page glanced down at the signature. He started violently, and stared at the words for the space of a few seconds like a man bewitched. The hectic flush of triumphant cunning changed to a deathly grey. His hand shook so that the paper crackled; then his teeth began to chatter; the trembling spread to his limbs, and the whole of his big frame quivered and shook till he reeled under the shock and had to cling to the table for support. His eyes all this time were fixed glassily on the signature of the letter; his breath was laboured and stertorous as he gasped for air; and he made frantic efforts to fight against the palsy of terror. He failed. And at length the revolver dropped from his nerveless hand, the letter fluttered to the floor, and with a groan he collapsed into the chair near him helpless, inert, and unconscious, his bullocky head lolling over the back with gaping mouth and staring but unseeing eyes. I laid him down on the floor, and pocketed his revolver lest, when he recovered, he might have a fancy to put a bullet in me. Then I helped myself to the key, and having unlocked the door, put the key in my own pocket.