“CYRIL.”
He folded the letter, and sent it off to the temporary address at the West-End where Elma had told him that she and her mother would spend the night in London. Very late that evening a ring came at the bell. Cyril ran to the door. It was a boy with a telegram. He opened it, and read it with breathless excitement.
“Whatever Guy may have said, you are quite mistaken. There’s a mystery somewhere. Keep his letter and show it to me. I may, perhaps, be able to unravel the tangle. I’m more than ever convinced that what I said to you last night was perfectly true. We will save him yet. Unalterably,