I picked it up and unfolded it : —
I, the Viscount Anne de Kéroual de Saint Yves, formerly serving under the name of Champdivers, in the Buonapartist army, and later under that name a prisoner of war, in the Castle of Edinburgh, hereby state that I had neither knowledge of my uncle the Count de Kéroual de Saint Yves, nor expectations from him, nor was owned, by him, until sought out by Mr. Daniel Romaine, in the Castle of Edinburgh, by him supplied with money to expedite my escape, and by him clandestinely smuggled at nightfall into Amersham Place; Further, that until that evening I had never set eyes on my Uncle, nor have set eyes on him since; that he was bedridden when I saw him, and apparently in the last stage of senile decay. And I have reason to believe that Mr. Romaine did not fully inform him of the circumstances of my escape, and particularly of my concern in the death of a fellow prisoner named Goguelat, formerly a marechal des logis in the 22nd regiment of the line.
Of the contents of this precious document let a sample suffice. From end to end it was a tissue of distorted statements implicated with dishonouring suggestions. I read it through, and let it drop on the table.
"I beg your pardon," said I, "but what do you wish me to do with it?"
"Sign it," said he.
I laughed. "Once more I beg your pardon, but though you have apparently dressed for it, this is not comic opera."
"Nevertheless, you will sign."
"O, you weary me." I seated myself, and flung a leg over the arm of my chair. "Shall we come to the alternative? For I assume you have one."
"The alternative?—to be sure," he answered cheerfully. "I have a companion below, one Clausel, and at the Tête d'Or, a little down the street, an escort of police."
Here was a pleasing predicament. But if Alain had started with a chance of daunting me (which I do not admit) he had spoilt it long since by working on the raw of
