_When the curtain rises the two men are seated on opposite sides of the room, facing away from each other. HORACE TANNER is occupied in opening, throwing away or laying aside a pile of mail which is on the writing-table before him. JOHN ROBERTS is writing a letter, which he folds, seals and addresses. Finding himself without a stamp, he leaves the room, back. Neither man is conscious of the other’s presence. TANNER starts to answer a note, refers to a letter he has put aside, then lets his pen drop and stares in front of him listlessly. He is a man between thirty-five and forty with a clean-cut fine face. The jaw is square, the eyes and brow those of a dreamer._ [_The BELL-BOY enters._] BELL-BOY. This Mr. Tanner, sir? TANNER. Yes. What is it? BELL-BOY. Letter for you, sir. [_Holds out a tray with a long sealed envelope._] TANNER. I got my mail at the desk when I arrived. Where was this? BELL-BOY. It is a registered letter, sir. The clerk always keeps ’em in the safe. TANNER. I see. Thank you. [_The BELL-BOY goes out. TANNER opens the envelope slowly, after looking curiously at the handwriting. Inside is another envelope of which the seal has been broken. Around this is a half-sheet of note-paper. At the handwriting on the second envelope TANNER gives a start. He glances at the note, then throws it aside and becomes absorbed in the contents of the inner envelope. The letter he reads is not long, perhaps four or five pages. He turns it over and over, trying to find more. He has laid the envelope, the one on which the writing has startled him, beside him on the desk. As he reads, leaning forward, the envelope is pushed by his elbow onto the floor and lies there unnoticed. TANNER is so absorbed he does not notice or look up as ROBERTS re-enters from back. ROBERTS is a man of address and strength. His mouth has set lines around it. He is, perhaps, forty-five to fifty. He is dressed in mourning and looks careworn. As he enters, a lighted cigar is in his hand, but it is soon put down and forgotten. He thinks he recognizes TANNER, then sees he is mistaken. He is about to return to his desk when his eye falls on the envelope on the floor. He picks it up courteously, saying, “I beg your pardon.” TANNER does not hear him. As ROBERTS places the envelope on the table he sees the handwriting. He is plainly amazed and glances sharply at TANNER, who is still re-reading the letter._] ROBERTS. That is my wife’s handwriting. She is dead. The name on the envelope, James Douglas, is that of a friend of hers and of mine. You have a letter there in the same handwriting. Where did you get it? [_TANNER holds the letter tightly in his left hand and makes no answer._] ROBERTS. Where did you get it? TANNER. I decline to answer. ROBERTS. The letter does not belong to you.