Zola. Questioned as to his business, the only
explanation he would give was that he had with him a document in a sealed
envelope which he must place in M. Zola's own hands. Wareham had wired to
me on the matter, but owing to my absence from home had of course
received no reply. Then, on reaching Wimbledon, he had called on me and
found me out. And, finally, he had gone down to Oatlands and had there
seen M. Zola, who had handed him a note authorising Maitre Labori's
messenger to call at the hotel on the morrow. However, the messenger and
his manners had seemed very suspicious to Wareham--as, indeed, they
afterwards seemed to me--and the question arose, was he a genuine envoy,
was the writing on Maitre Labori's card perchance a forgery, and what was
the document in a sealed envelope which was to be handed to nobody but M.
Zola himself? Well, said I at a guess, perhaps it is a copy of the
Versailles judgment, and this is simply an impudent attempt to serve it.
Wareham still had Zola's note in his possession, and we resolved to go to
town that evening to interview the messenger and extract from him some
decisive proof of his bona fides before allowing matters to go any
further.
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