"You are sure?" he asked.
"Quite. It came by the evening post—with others. Gaston brought them into the dining-room. There was one for me from my firm in London, a couple for Betty, and this one for Ann Upcott. She opened it with a frown, as though she did not know from whom it came. I saw it as she unfolded it. It was on the same common paper—typewritten in the same way—with no address at the head of it. She gasped as she looked at it, and then she read it again. And then with a smile she folded it and put it away."
"With a smile?" Hanaud insisted.
"Yes. She was pleased. The colour came into her face. The distress went out of it."
"She didn't show it to you, then?"
"No."
"Nor to Mademoiselle Harlowe?"
"No."
"But she was pleased, eh?" It seemed that to Hanaud this was the most extraordinary feature of the whole business. "Did she say anything?"
"Yes," answered Jim. "She said 'He has been always right, hasn't he?'"