"It is quite possible," replied Chauvenet. "The emblem is unmistakable.
Good God, look!"
The sweat had broken out on Chauvenet's face and he leaped to the chair
where his coat hung, and caught up the garment with shaking hands. The
silk lining fluttered loose where Armitage had roughly torn out the
envelope.
"Who is he? Who is he?" whispered Durand, very white of face.
"It may be--it must be some one deeply concerned."
Chauvenet paused, drawing his hand across his forehead slowly; then the
color leaped back into his face, and he caught Durand's arm so tight that
the man flinched.
"There has been a man following me about; I thought he was interested in
the Claibornes. He's here--I saw him at the Monte Rosa to-night. God!"
He dropped his hand from Durand's arm and struck the table fiercely with
his clenched hand.
"John Armitage--John Armitage! I heard his name in Florence."
His eyes were snapping with excitement, and amazement grew in his face.
"Who is John Armitage?" demanded Durand sharply; but Chauvenet stared at
him in stupefaction for a tense moment, then muttered to himself:
"Is it possible? Is it possible?" and his voice was hoarse and his hand
trembled as he picked up the cigarette case.
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