As he was putting his supper dishes away, a messenger boy knocked at his door and handed him a note. It was from Mr. Gryce and ran thus:
“Steal off, if you can, and as soon as you can, and meet me in Twenty-ninth Street. A discovery has been made which alters the whole situation.”
XXII. O. B. AGAIN
“What’s happened? Something very important. I ought to hope so after this confounded failure.”
“Failure? Didn’t he read the letters?”
“Yes, he read them. Had to, but—”
“Didn’t weaken? Eh?”
“No, he didn’t weaken. You can’t get water out of a millstone. You may squeeze and squeeze; but it’s your fingers which suffer, not it. He thinks we manufactured those letters ourselves on purpose to draw him.”
“Humph! I knew we had a reputation for finesse, but I didn’t know that it ran that high.”