"This envelope," he said, "was left with me
by the man with short stiff hair, who came just before you, and who
announced himself as Sir Charles Vandrift. He said he was interested
in tea in Assam, and wanted me to join the board of directors of
some bogus company. These are his papers, I believe," and he handed
them to his cousin.
"Well, I'm glad the notes are safe, anyhow," Charles murmured, in a
tone of relief, beginning to smell a rat. "Will you kindly return
them to me?"
The attache turned out the contents of the envelope. They proved to
be prospectuses of bubble companies of the moment, of no importance.
"Medhurst must have put them there," I cried, "and decamped with the
cash."
Charles gave a groan of horror. "And Medhurst is Colonel Clay!" he
exclaimed, clapping his hand to his forehead.
"I beg your pardon, sir," the Colonel interposed. "I have but one
personality, and no aliases."
It took quite half an hour to explain this imbroglio. But as soon as
all was explained, in French and English, to the satisfaction of
ourselves and the juge d'instruction, the real Colonel shook hands
with us in a most forgiving way, and informed us that he had more
than once wondered, when he gave his name at shops in Paris, why
it was often received with such grave suspicion.
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