"I have overlooked no detail," he answered, with calmness. "Your suggestion is an admirable form of excuse, but, unfortunately for you, it will not hold water. First, because, as you must be aware, there is but one key to that safe, and that never leaves my person; secondly, no one but you and I are possessed of the secret whereby the safe may be opened or closed; thirdly, the packet you gave me did not remain in the safe. In order that you should believe that the document was deposited there, I put it in in your presence, but when you left my room I took it out again, and carried it home with me to Berkeley Square, intending to show it to Lord Maybury. The Premier did not call as he had promised, but I kept the document in my pocket the whole time, and at six o'clock returned to the Foreign Office and deposited it again in the safe. Almost next moment--I had not left the room, remember--some thought prompted me to reopen the envelope and reassure myself of the wording of one of the clauses. Walking to the safe, I took out the envelope and cut it open, only to discover that I had been tricked. The paper was blank!" "It might have been stolen while in your possession just as easily as while in mine!" I exclaimed, experiencing some satisfaction at being thus able to turn his own arguments against himself. "Knowing its vital importance, I took the most elaborate precautions that such circumstances were rendered absolutely impossible." "From your words, when Hammerton arrived from Berlin, it was plain that you suspected treachery. On what ground were your suspicions founded?" Upon his sphinx-like face there rested a heavy frown of displeasure as he replied,-- "I refuse to submit to any cross-examination, sir. That I entertained certain suspicions is enough." "And you actually accuse me without the slightest foundation?" I cried with warmth. "You are in error," he retorted very calmly, returning to his writing-table and taking up some papers. "I have here the original of the telegram handed in at the branch post-office in the Strand yesterday afternoon." "Well?" "It has been examined by the calligraphic expert employed by the police, and declared to be in your handwriting." "What?" I gasped, almost snatching the yellow telegraph form from his hand in my eagerness to examine the mysterious jumble of letters and figures composing the cypher. My heart sank within me when next instant I recognised they were in a hand so nearly resembling my own that I could scarcely detect any difference whatever. As I stood gazing at this marvellous forgery, open-mouthed in abject dismay, there broke upon my ear a short, harsh laugh--a laugh of triumph. Raising my head, the Earl's penetrating gaze met mine. "Now," he exclaimed, "come, acknowledge the truth. It is useless to prevaricate." "I have told the truth," I answered. "I never wrote this."