added, to his relief, also, his apprehensions proved to be groundless.  The only emotions aroused in Noel Vanstone’s mind by a perusal of the letter were a hearty admiration of his friend’s idea, and a vainglorious anxiety to claim the credit to himself of being the person who carried it out.  Examples may be found every day of a fool who is no coward; examples may be found occasionally of a fool who is not cunning; but it may reasonably be doubted whether there is a producible instance anywhere of a fool who is not cruel.

“Perfect!” cried Noel Vanstone, clapping his hands.  “Mr. Bygrave, you are as good as Figaro in the French comedy.  Talking of French, there is one serious mistake in this clever letter of yours—­it is written in the wrong language.  When the doctor writes to Lecount, he writes in French.  Perhaps you meant me to translate it?  You can’t manage without my help, can you?  I write French as fluently as I write English.  Just look at me!  I’ll translate it, while I sit here, in two strokes of the pen.”

He completed the translation almost as rapidly as Captain Wragge had produced the original.  “Wait a minute!” he cried, in high critical triumph at discovering another defect in the composition of his ingenious friend.  “The doctor always dates his letters.  Here is no date to yours.”

“I leave the date to you,” said the captain, with a sardonic smile.  “You have discovered the fault, my dear sir—­pray correct it!”

Noel Vanstone mentally looked into the great gulf which separates the faculty that can discover a defect, from the faculty that can apply a remedy, and, following the example of many a wiser man, declined to cross over it.

“I couldn’t think of ta king the liberty,” he said, politely.  “Perhaps you had a motive for leaving the date out?”

“Perhaps I had,” replied Captain Wragge, with his easiest good-humor.  “The date must depend on the time a letter takes to get to Zurich. I have had no experience on that point—­you must have had plenty of experience in your father’s time.  Give me the benefit of your information, and we will add the date before you leave the writing-table.”

Noel Vanstone’s experience was, as Captain Wragge had anticipated, perfectly competent to settle the question of time.  The railway resources of the Continent (in the year eighteen hundred and forty-seven) were but scanty; and a letter sent at that period from England to Zurich, and from Zurich back again to England, occupied ten days in making the double journey by post.

“Date the letter in French five days on from to-morrow,” said the captain, when he had got his information.  “Very good.  The next thing is to let me have the doctor’s note as soon as you can.  I may be obliged to practice some hours before I can copy your translation in an exact imitation of the doctor’s handwriting.  Have you got any foreign note-paper?  Let me have a few sheets, and send, at the same time, an envelope