"Ah! of course," exclaimed Hutcheson, taking out the brass seal from the
safe and examining it minutely. "By Jove!" he cried a second later,
"it's been used! They've stamped some document with it. Look! They've
used the wrong ink-pad! Can't you see that there's violet upon it, while
we always use the black pad!"

I took it in my hand, and there, sure enough, I saw traces of violet ink
upon it--the ink of the pad for the date-stamp upon the Consul's table.

"Then some document has been stamped and sealed!" I gasped.

"Yes. And my signature forged to it, no doubt. They've fabricated some
certificate or other which, bearing the stamp, seal and signature of the
Consulate, will be accepted as a legal document. I wonder what it is?"

"Ah!" I said. "I wonder!" And the three of us looked at each other in
sheer bewilderment.

"The reason the papers are all upset is because they were evidently in
search of some blank form or other, which they hoped to find," remarked
my friend. "As you say, the whole affair was most carefully and
ingeniously planned."

We crossed the great sunlit piazza together and entered the Questura,
that sun-blanched old palace with its long cool loggia where the sentry
paces day and night. The Chief of Police, whom we saw, had no further
information. The mysterious yacht had not put in at any Italian port.
From him, however, we learned the name of the detective who had seen the
two strangers leave Leghorn by the early morning train, and an hour