of ordinary type, and although the flap was secured with a blob of
sealing wax, there was no particular impression upon it.

"We can match this envelope, I think," Mr. Fentolin said softly.
"The seal we can copy. I think that, for the sake of others, we
must discover the cause for this hurried journey on the part of Mr.
John P. Dunster."

With his long, delicate forefinger Mr. Fentolin slit the envelope
and withdrew the single sheet of paper which it contained. There
were a dozen lines of written matter, and what appeared to be a
dozen signatures appended. Mr. Fentolin read it, at first with
ordinary interest. Then a change came. The look of a man drawn
out of himself, drawn out of all knowledge of his surroundings or
his present state, stole into his face. Literally he became
transfixed. The delicate fingers of his, left hand gripped the
sides of his little carriage. His eyes shone as though those few
written lines upon which they were riveted were indeed some message
from an unknown, an unimagined world. Yet no word ever passed his
lips. There came a time when the tension seemed a little relaxed.
With fingers which still trembled, he folded up the sheet and
replaced it in the envelope. He guarded it with both his hands and
sat quite still. Neither Gerald nor his servant moved. Somehow,
the sense of Mr. Fentolin's suppressed excitement seemed to have
become communicated to them. It was a little tableau, broken at
last by Mr. Fentolin himself.

"I should like," he said, turning to Gerald, "to be alone. It may
interest you to know that this document which Mr. Dunster has brought
across the seas, and which I hold in my hands, is the most amazing