“Or he would wish to disguise it.  It was likely he would so wish,” further remarked the Judge.

“You admit, then, that there is a difference?” argued the General, shrewdly.  “But there is more than a disguise.  The best disguise leaves certain unchangeable features.  Some letters, capital G’s, H’s, and others, will betray themselves through the best disguise.  I know what I am saying.  I have studied the subject of handwriting; it interests me.  These are the work of two different hands.  Call in an expert; you will find I am right.”

“Well, well,” said the Judge, after a pause, “let us grant your position for the moment.  What do you deduce?  What do you infer therefrom?”

“Surely you can see what follows—­what this leads us to?” said Sir Charles, rather disdainfully.

“I have formed an opinion—­yes, but I should like to see if it coincides with yours.  You think—­”

“I know,” corrected the General.  “I know that, as two persons wrote in that book, either it is not Ripaldi’s book, or the last of them was not Ripaldi.  I saw the last writer at his work, saw him with my own eyes.  Yet he did not write with Ripaldi’s hand—­ this is incontestable, I am sure of it, I will swear it—­ergo, he is not Ripaldi.”

“But you should have known this at the time,” interjected M. Flocon, fiercely.  “Why did you not discover the change of identity?  You should have seen that this was not Ripaldi.”

“Pardon me.  I did not know the man.  I had not noticed him particularly on the journey.  There was no reason why I should.  I had no communication, no dealings, with any of my fellow passengers except my brother and the Countess.”

“But some of the others would surely have remarked the change?” went on the Judge, greatly puzzled.  “That alone seems enough to condemn your theory, M. le General.”

“I take my stand on fact, not theory,” stoutly maintained Sir Charles, “and I am satisfied I am right.”

“But if that was not Ripaldi, who was it?  Who would wish to masquerade in his dress and character, to make entries of that sort, as if under his hand?”

“Some one determined to divert suspicion from himself to others—­”

“But stay—­does he not plainly confess his own guilt?”

“What matter if he is not Ripaldi?  Directly the inquiry was over, he could steal away and resume his own personality—­that of a man supposed to be dead, and therefore safe from all interference and future pursuit.”

“You mean—­Upon my word, I compliment you, M. le General.  It is really ingenious! remarkable, indeed! superb!” cried the Judge, and only professional jealousy prevented M. Flocon from conceding the same praise.

“But how—­what—­I do not understand,” asked Colonel Papillon in amazement.  His wits did not travel quite so fast as those of his companions.

“Simply this, my dear Jack,” explained the General:  “Ripaldi must have tried to blackmail Quadling, as he proposed, and Quadling turned the tables on him.  They fought, no doubt, and Quadling killed him, possibly in self-defence.  He would have said so, but in his peculiar position as an absconding defaulter he did not dare.  That is how I read it, and I believe that now these gentlemen are disposed to agree with me.”