"Oh, not that," corrected Tellier, with a little offended gesture, his self-assurance back in an instant. "You mistake me--I am not of that sort at all. On the other hand, it is friendship for you which has brought me here. I have no wish to injure you, monsieur, and you yourself, of course, perceive fully what a disaster it would be should this note be placed in certain hands." "To what adventure does the note refer?" queried Collins. "It refers to the adventure of Lord Vernon with the two Americans on the afternoon of his arrival. He has, no doubt, mentioned it to you." "Lord Vernon has had no adventure since his arrival here," retorted Collins, coldly. "But go ahead with your story." "As I was saying," continued Tellier, "I am a poor man. I have my future to consider--I cannot afford to throw away this opportunity which chance has placed in my hands. I will be reasonable, however--I will not ask too much--a hundred thousand francs--" "Tellier," Collins interrupted, with a gesture of weariness, "I have not the least idea what you mean. But I do know that you have been hoaxed, that you are the victim of some deception, that somebody is making a fool of you. A hundred thousand francs! And for that note! Why, man, you are mad or very, very drunk! We don't want the note. We have no concern in it!" "No concern in it!" shrieked Tellier. "When it is written by Lord Vernon!" "Lord Vernon did not write it," retorted Collins, coolly. "I saw it--with my own eyes I saw it!" "Then your eyes deceived you. Evidently you are not acquainted with Lord Vernon's writing, my friend. Shall I show you a sample? Wait." He went to a desk, got out a despatch-box, unlocked it, and ran rapidly through its contents, while Tellier watched him with bloodshot eyes. "This will do," Collins said, at last. "A note to Monsieur Delcassé, with which you are perhaps familiar, since it has recently been made public. Look at it." Tellier almost snatched it--one glance was enough. There was absolutely no resemblance between that tall, angular hand and the writing of the note. He looked at the signature, at the seal--there could be no doubting them. His lips were quivering, his fat cheeks hanging flaccid, as he handed the paper back. "You are playing with me," he said, thickly. "What I have seen, I have seen. What I know, I know. You cannot trick me. I will go to the Prince of Markeld--to Prince Ferdinand himself--" "To whomever you please," interrupted Collins, "only go at once," and he snatched open the door. Tellier hesitated an instant, glanced at the other's face, and went. And Collins, closing the door behind him, mopped the perspiration from his forehead. "Well done, my friend," he said; "exceedingly well done!" And with that, he turned back to the inner room. * * * * *