"You have," Laverick answered. "Why on earth Didn't you come to me
before? Don't you believe that I should have listened to you as
readily as to Mademoiselle Idiale?"

"I wish that I had come," Bellamy admitted, "and yet, here is the
truth, Laverick, because the truth is best. Twenty-two years lie
between us and the time when we knew anything of one another. To
me, therefore, you are a stranger. I had my spies following Von
Behrling that night. I know that you took the pocket-book from his
dead body. If you did not murder him yourself, the deed was done
by an accomplice of yours. How was I to trust you? We are speaking
naked words, my friend. We are dealing with naked truths. To me
you were a murderer and a thief. A word from me and you would have
realized the value of that document. I tell you frankly that
Austria would give you almost any sum for it to-day."

Laverick, strong man though he was, was conscious of a sudden
weakness. He raised his hand to his forehead and drew it away - wet.
He struggled desperately for self-control.

"Bellamy," he said, "here's truth for truth. I am not on my trial
before you. Believe me, man, for God's sake!"

"I'll try," Bellamy promised. "Go on."

"That night I stayed at my office late because I saw ruin before me
on the morrow. I left it meaning to go straight home. I lit a
cigarette near that entry, and by the light of a match, as I was
throwing it away, I saw the murdered man. I think for a time I was
paralyzed. The pocket-book was half dragged out from his pocket.