, as abruptly, his cheeks changed color again, fading to
an ashen pallor tinged with greenish sickliness. In his eyes the light
appeared to die. He licked his lips and a palsy shook him like a violent
chill. The Virginian's eyes were still searching the floor, but his left
hand,--the uninjured one--rested lightly on the table, and as Mr.
Tollman looked he saw that the fingers were spread upon a yellowed
envelope, of which the exposed surface bore the clearly legible
inscription "S. F. & C. W."

And while the victim of terror stood, transfixed with his premonition of
crisis, Farquaharson also glanced down and, seeing the envelope, added:
"No--here's one more. It must have been lying here all the time."

CHAPTER XXVIII

To Tollman's eyes familiar with content and superscription, it was all
glaringly conspicuous. The initials seemed to stand out like headlines,
but Farquaharson was without suspicion and he saw only one more paper in
which his interest was most perfunctory. The whole issue had narrowed
now, Eben realized with a tension of fear which brought out sweat beads
on the pasty white of his face, to the hairbreadth narrowness of one
question. Would Stuart see the initials or would they escape his notice?

But the Virginian was not yet broken to the habit of being a cripple. He
could not remember that he must avoid the effort to use the right hand
which he had always used. Now he reached down and picked up the
envelope--still with the lettered surface turned up to sight--and
rapping still swollen knuckles on the desk top, he let the envelope fall
just as he raised it.

But this time it fell face down--and the perilous letters lay hidden.

Eben grabbed forward with such precipitate haste that Farquaharson
looked up in astonishment and for the first time recognized something of
the agitation which shook the other: the spasmodic panting of his breath
and the outstanding arteries on his temples. "Why, you are ill, man!" he
exclaimed. "What's the matter with you?"

Tollman made a supreme effort to rally his powers of self-control. The
envelope lay between them--but out of his own reach and that spelled the
wavering balance of suspense.

"This stooping after papers seems to have brought on a touch of
vertigo," he explained and he had the sense, costly in self-restraint,
to let his eagerly outstretched hand drop at his side, "Conscience, I
think I'll have a little brandy."

After his wife had gone he spoke