rom it a piece of parchment, folded longwise,
many times over. He placed it on the table, opened the last fold only,
and kept his hand on the rest. The last fold displayed a strip of blank
parchment with little wafers stuck on it at certain places. Every line
of the writing was hidden in the part which he still held folded up
under his hand. Laura and I looked at each other. Her face was pale,
but it showed no indecision and no fear.

Sir Percival dipped a pen in ink, and handed it to his wife. "Sign your
name there," he said, pointing to the place. "You and Fosco are to
sign afterwards, Miss Halcombe, opposite those two wafers. Come here,
Fosco! witnessing a signature is not to be done by mooning out of
window and smoking into the flowers."

The Count threw away his cigarette, and joined us at the table, with
his hands carelessly thrust into the scarlet belt of his blouse, and
his eyes steadily fixed on Sir Percival's face. Laura, who was on the
other side of her husband, with the pen in her hand, looked at him too.
He stood between them holding the folded parchment down firmly on the
table, and glancing across at me, as I sat opposite to him, with such a
sinister mixture of suspicion and embarrassment on his face that he
looked more like a prisoner at the bar than a gentleman in his own
house.

"Sign there," he repeated, turning suddenly on Laura, and pointing once
more to the place on the parchment.

"What is it I am to sign?" she asked quietly.

"I have no time to explain," he answered. "The dog-cart is at the
door, and I must go directly. Besides, if I had time, you wouldn't
understand. It is a purely formal document, full of legal
technicalities, and all that sort of thing. Come! come! sign your
name, and let us have done as soon as possible."

"I ought surely to know what I am signing, Sir Percival, before I write
my name?"

"Nonsense! What have women to do with business? I tell you again, you
can't understand it."

"At any rate, let me try to understand it. Whenever Mr. Gilmore had
any business for me to do, he always explained it first, and I always
understood him."

"I dare say he did. He was your servant, and was obliged to explain.
I am your husband, and am NOT obliged. How much longer do you mean to
keep me here? I tell you again, there is no time for reading
anything--the dog-cart is waiting at the door. Once for all, will you
sign or will you not?"

She still had the pen in her