ecured the paper, or he
would have given it to his patron when they were alone. That fact was
patent; the document was gone, irretrievably; there could be no hope of
recovering it. The bitter knowledge that it had really once existed
would not serve John Steele long. But with seeming resolution he went
on: "I had the story from his own lips," deliberately, "put in the form
of an affidavit, duly signed and witnessed."

"You did?" Lord Ronsdale stared at him a long time. "This is a
subterfuge."

"It is true."

"Where--is the paper?"

"Not in my pocket."

The other considered. "You mean it is in a safe place?"

"One would naturally take care of such a document."

"You did not have any such paper at Strathorn."

"No?" John Steele smiled but he did not feel like smiling. "Not there
certainly."

"I mean no such paper existed then, or you would have taken advantage of
it."

John Steele did not answer; he looked at the drawer. The affidavit was
not there; but something else was.

"You are resourceful, that is all."

Lord Ronsdale had now quite recovered himself; he sank back into his
chair. "You have, out of fancy, constructed a libelous theory; one that
you can not prove; one that you would be laughed at for advancing. A
cock-and-bull story about a witness who was not a witness; a paper that
doesn't exist, that never existed."

A sound at the door caused him to turn sharply; a knocking had passed
unheeded. The door opened, closed. Mr. Gillett, a troubled, perturbed
look on his face, stood now just within. "Your lordship!"

"Well?" the nobleman's manner was peremptory.

The police agent, however, came forward slowly. "I have here something
that one of our men has just turned over to me." John Steele started;
but neither of the others noticed. "He found it at the last place we
were; evidently it had been dropped by the fellow who was there and who
fled at our coming." As he spoke, he stepped nearer the desk, in his
hand a paper.

"What is it?" Lord Ronsdale demanded testily.

Mr. Gillett did not at once answer; he looked at John Steele; the latter
stood like a statue; only his eyes were turned toward the nobleman, to
the thin aristocratic hand yet resting on the edge of the drawer.

"If your lordship will glance at it?" said Mr. Gillett, proffering the
sheet.

The nobleman did so; his face changed; his eyes seemed unable to leave
the paper. Suddenly he gave a smothered explanation; tore the sheet
once,