In his absence Vajdar had risen and seated himself at the desk.
Searching the drawer for writing-materials, he had come upon a sheet of paper yellow with age, and written upon in ink now much faded.

The document proved to be a promissory note, but the signature was so heavily scored through and through as to be hardly legible.

Benjamin Vajdar started violently as he took up the faded sheet and saw that the man whom he had so feared and hated had, by his own voluntary act, disarmed himself and put it out of his power to punish the fraud practised upon him by his false friend.

As if distrusting his own constancy and the binding force of his promise to his sister, Manasseh had, with a few strokes of his pen, rendered harmless what could otherwise have been used as incriminating evidence against the forger.
On entering the room, Manasseh detected a peculiar odour in the air.
Benjamin Vajdar sat at the writing-desk, a morocco pocketbook open before him.

A half-finished letter lay under the writer's hand, but his pen had ceased to move.