“‘Ye lie,’ says Gin’ral Merceer, coldly.

“‘—­called on me; an’ says he, “Bertillon,” he says, “ye’er fam’ly’s been a little cracked, an’ I thought to ask ye to identify this letther which I’ve jus’ had written be a frind iv mine, Major Estherhazy,” he says.  “I don’t care to mintion who we suspect; but he’s a canal Jew in th’ artillery, an’ his name’s Cap Dhryfuss,” he says.  “It’s not aisy,” I says; “but, if th’ honor iv th’ ar-rmy’s at stake, I’ll thry to fix th’ raysponsibility,” I says.  An’ I wint to wurruk.  I discovered in th’ first place that all sentences begun with capitals, an’ they was a peryod at th’ end iv each.  This aroused me suspicions.  Clearly, this letther was written be a Jew.  Here I paused, f’r I had no samples iv th’ Cap’s writin’ to compare with it.  So I wrote wan mesilf.  They was much th’ same.  “Sure,” says I, “th’ Cap’s guilty,” I says.  But how did he do it?  I thried a number iv experiments.  I first laid down over th’ letther a piece of common tissue paper.  Th’ writin’ was perfectly plain through this.  Thin I threw it on a screen eighteen hands high.  Thin I threw it off.  Thin I set it to music, an’ played it on a flute.  Thin I cooked it over a slow fire, an’ left it in a cool airy place to dhry.  In an instant it flashed over me how th’ forgery was done.  “Th’ Cap first give it to his little boy to write.  Thin he had his wife copy it in imitation iv Macchew Dhryfuss’s handwritin’.  Thin Macchew wrote it in imitation iv Estherhazy.  Thin th’ Cap had it put on a typewriter, an’ r-run through a wringer.  Thin he laid it transversely acrost a piece of wall paper; an’, whereiver th’ key wurrud sponge-cake appeared, he was thereby able f’r to make a sympathic lesion, acquirin’ all th’ characteristics iv th’ race, an’ a dam sight more.”

“‘I follow ye like a horse afther a hay wagon,’ says th’ prisident, ‘hungrily, but unsatisfacthrly.  Ye do not prove that th’ throuble was symotic, mong expert.’

“‘Parfictly,’ says Moosoo Bertillon.  ’I will have me assistants put up a screen, an’ on this I will projooce ividince’—­“‘Go away,’ says th’ prisident.  ’Call Colonel Prystalter.  Mong colonel, ye thraitor, describe th’ conversation ye had with Colonel Schneider, th’ honorable but lyin’ spy or confidential envoy iv th’ vin’rable Impror iv Austhrich, may th’ divvle fly way with him!  But mind ye, ye must mintion no names.’

“‘I know no man more honest,’ says th’ witness.

“‘Thin your acquaintance is limited to ye’ersilf,’ says Gin’ral Merceer.

“‘Colonel Schneider,’ says th’ witness, ‘th’ Austhrich,—­whom I will designate, f’r fear iv internaytional entanglements, merely as Colonel Schneider,—­says to me, he says:  “Th’ letther pretindin’ to be fr’m me is a forgery.”  “How’s that?” says I.  “Didn’t ye write an’ sign it?” I says.  “I did,” says he.  “But some wan else sint it to th’ pa-apers.”

“’Thin ‘tis clearly a forgery,’ says th’ prisident.