'I don't say Mr Burns wished to kidnap the boy in the ordinary way,' said Sam imperturbably, 'like those men who came that night. He had a special reason. Mr and Mrs Ford, as of course you know, sir, are divorced. Mr Burns was trying to get the boy away and take him back to his mother.' I heard Audrey give a little gasp. Mr Abney's anger became modified by a touch of doubt. I could see that these words, by lifting the accusation from the wholly absurd to the somewhat plausible, had impressed him. Once again I was gripped by the uneasy feeling that Sam had an unsuspected card to play. This might be bluff, but it had a sinister ring. 'You might say,' went on Sam smoothly, 'that this was creditable to Mr Burns's heart. But, from my employer's viewpoint and yours, too, it was a chivalrous impulse that needed to be checked. Will you please read this, sir?' He handed a letter to Mr Abney, who adjusted his glasses and began to read--at first in a detached, judicial way, then with startled eagerness. 'I felt it necessary to search among Mr Burns's papers, sir, in the hope of finding--' And then I knew what he had found. From the first the blue-grey notepaper had had a familiar look. I recognized it now. It was Cynthia's letter, that damning document which I had been mad enough to read to him in London. His prediction that the luck would change had come amazingly true. I caught Sam's eye. For the second time he was unfeeling enough to wink. It was a rich, comprehensive wink, as expressive and joyous as a college yell. Mr Abney had absorbed the letter and was struggling for speech. I could appreciate his emotion. If he had not actually been nurturing a viper in his bosom, he had come, from his point of view, very near it. Of all men, a schoolmaster necessarily looks with the heartiest dislike on the would-be kidnapper. As for me, my mind was in a whirl. I was entirely without a plan, without the very beginnings of a plan, to help me cope with this appalling situation. I was crushed by a sense of the utter helplessness of my position. To denounce Sam was impossible; to explain my comparative innocence was equally out of the question. The suddenness of the onslaught had deprived me of the power of coherent thought. I was routed. Mr Abney was speaking. 'Is your name Peter, Mr Burns?' I nodded. Speech was beyond me. 'This letter is written by--ah--by a lady. It asks you in set terms to--ah--hasten to kidnap Ogden Ford. Do you wish me to read it to you? Or do you confess to knowing its contents?' He waited for a reply. I had none to make. 'You do not deny that you came to Sanstead House for the deliberate purpose of kidnapping Ogden Ford?'