I crossed the room and looked. Immediately around the corner, on a
level with my eyes, was a packet of foolscap envelopes and a stick of
black sealing-wax! _Bien!_ all that I now required was a stout sheet
of paper to enclose in one of those envelopes. But not a scrap of
paper could I find, except the blood-stained letter in my pocket--
towards which I had formed a strong antipathy. I had not even a
newspaper in my possession. I thought of folding three or four
envelopes, but there were only six in all, and the absence of so
many might be noted.
Drawing aside a baize curtain which hung from the bottom shelf, I
discovered a number of old card-board boxes. It was sufficient. With
a pair of surgical scissors I cut a piece from the lid of one and
thrust it into an envelope, gumming down the lapel. At a little gas
jet intended for the purpose I closed both ends with wax and--
singular coincidence!--finding a Chinese coin fastened to a cork
lying on the shelf, my sense of humour prompted me to use it as a
seal! Finally, to add to the verisimilitude of the affair I borrowed
a pen which rested in a bottle of red ink and wrote upon the
envelope the number: 30, that day being the thirtieth day of the
month.
It was well that the artist within me had dictated this careful
elaboration, as became evident a few minutes later when the doctor
appeared at the head of a short flight of stairs and requested me to
step up to his consulting-room.
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