THE YELLOW DOVE
“I—I will do what I can to enlighten you,” she said haltingly. “What do you wish to know?”
General von Stromberg beamed on her.
“Ach, I am glad you take the sensible view of things.” He waved the package of cigarette papers in his fingers. “You have seen this object before?”
“Yes, I think so. Will you let me look at it?”
The General moved his chair closer and put the papers in her fingers. She opened the papers and finding the message, scanned it closely, reading the writing with deliberateness and then looking up into von Stromberg’s face.
“You have seen this before?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“At Lady Heathcote’s house in Scotland.”
“How did it come into your hands?”
“I found it on the floor of Mr. Hammersley’s room.”
“The night Herr Rizzio entered it, thinking it was yours?”
“Yes. That was the time.”
“You are quite sure?”
“Quite.”
“How did you identify it?”
“By certain peculiar characteristics of the handwriting, with which I am familiar.”
“Mr. Hammersley’s, is it not?”
“Yes.”
“And how did this package of papers go out of your possession?”
“Mr.—Mr. Hammersley took them from me.”
“By force?”
She raised her chin proudly and looked at her questioner and then lowered her eyes, replying quietly:
198
