"
"They are," agreed Stuart. "But I have no facilities here, you see,
and I was--er--compelled to attempt the experiment. I don't intend to
repeat it."
"That's lucky," murmured the man, dropping the instrument into a
carpet-bag. "If you do, it will cost you a tidy penny for telephones!"
Walking out towards the dispensary, Stuart met Mrs. M'Gregor.
"A Post Office messenger brought this letter for you, Mr. Keppel, just
the now," she said, handing Stuart a sealed envelope.
He took the envelope from her hand, and turned quickly away. He felt
that he had changed colour. For it was addressed in the handwriting
of ... Mlle. Dorian!
"Thank you, Mrs. M'Gregor," he said and turned into the dining-room.
Mrs. M'Gregor proceeded about her household duties, and as her
footsteps receded, Stuart feverishly tore open the envelope. That
elusive scent of jasmine crept to his nostrils. In the envelope was a
sheet of thick note-paper (having the top cut off evidently in order
to remove the printed address), upon which the following singular
message was written:
"Before I go away there is something I want to say to you. You do not
trust me. It is not wonderful that you do not. But I swear that I
only want to save you from a _great_ danger. If you will promise not
to tell the police anything of it, I will meet you at six o'clock by
the Book Stall at Victoria Station--on the Brighton side. If you agree
you will wear something white in your button-hole.
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