it. But there's a little oversight that should convince you it's a
forgery. Have you a magnifying glass, doc?"

Ticknor produced one in a minute, and Grim held the letter under the
lamp. On the rather wide margin, carefully rubbed out, but not so
carefully that the indentation did not show, was the French word
magnifique that had been written with a rather heavy hand and one of
those hard pencils supplied to colonial governments by exporters from
stocks that can't be sold at home.

"That proves nothing," Mabel insisted. "All educated Arabs talk French.
Somebody on Feisul's staff was asked for an opinion on the letter before
it went. My husband's Arab orderly told me only yesterday that a sling
I made for a man in the hospital was magnifique."

The objection was well enough taken, because it was the sort the forger
of the letter would be likely to raise if brought to book. But Grim's
argument was not exhausted.

"There are other points, Mabel. For one thing, it's blue metallic ink.
Feisul's private letters are all written with indelible black stuff made
from pellets that I gave him; they're imported from the States."

"But if Feisul wanted to prove an alibi, he naturally wouldn't use his
special private ink," objected Mabel.

"Then why his seal, and his special private notepaper? However, there's
another point. Feisul writes the purest kind of Arabic, and this isn't
that sort of Arabic. It was written by a foreigner--perhaps a
Frenchman--possibly an Armenian--most likely a Turk--certainly one of