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 Delcasse,
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.
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