tested it on her finger-nail, and then, easily and rapidly, wrote “accompanied by his wife” across the blank space below Stewart’s name.

Stewart, staring down over her shoulder, was astonished by the cleverness of the forgery. It was perfect.

“There,” she added, “let it lie for five minutes and no one on earth can tell that those words were not written at the same time and by the same hand as all the others.”

A sudden doubt shook her hearer. Where had she [Pg 70]learned to forge like that? Perhaps, after all——

[Pg 70]

She read his thought in his eyes.

“To imitate handwriting is something which every member of the secret service must learn to do. This, on your passport, is a formal hand very easily imitated. But I must rid myself of this pen.”

She glanced quickly about the room, went to the open fireplace and threw the pen above the bricks which closed it off from the flue. Then she came back, motioned him to sit down, and drew a chair very close to his.

“Now we have certain details to arrange,” she said. “Your name is Bradford Stewart?”

“Yes.”

“Have you a sobriquet?”

“A what?”

“A name of familiarity,” she explained, “used only by your family or your friends.”

“Oh, a nickname! Well,” he admitted, unwillingly, “my father always called me Tommy.”

“Tommy! Excellent! I shall call you Tommy!”

“But I detest Tommy,” he objected.

“No matter!” she said, peremptorily. “It will have to do. What is your profession?”

“I am a surgeon.”

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