"Germaine showed me his letter," said the Duke. "It is amusing."

"His letter! The blackguard! I just missed a fit of apoplexy from
it," roared the millionaire. "I was in this very hall where we are
now, chatting quietly, when all at once in comes Firmin, and hands
me a letter."

He was interrupted by the opening of the door. Firmin came clumping
down the room, and said in his deep voice, "A letter for you, sir."

"Thank you," said the millionaire, taking the letter, and, as he
fitted his eye-glass into his eye, he went on, "Yes, Firmin brought
me a letter of which the handwriting,"--he raised the envelope he
was holding to his eyes, and bellowed, "Good heavens!"

"What's the matter?" said the Duke, jumping in his chair at the
sudden, startling burst of sound.

"The handwriting!--the handwriting!--it's THE SAME HANDWRITING!"
gasped the millionaire. And he let himself fall heavily backwards
against the back of his chair.

There was a crash. The Duke had a vision of huge arms and legs
waving in the air as the chair-back gave. There was another crash.
The chair collapsed. The huge bulk banged to the floor.

The laughter of the Duke rang out uncontrollably. He caught one of
the waving arms, and jerked the flabby giant to his feet with an
ease which seemed to show that his muscles were of steel.