“I don’t know,” said he. “Give it me, and we’ll see.” He opened the letter. The first thing he came upon was a piece of tissue paper neatly folded. Opening it, he found it to be a ten-pound note. “Hullo! is this a wedding present?” said he with a laugh.
“Ten pounds! How funny!” exclaimed Maud. “Is there no letter?”
“Yes, here’s a letter!” And Gerald read it to himself.
The letter ran as follows, saving certain eccentricities of spelling which need not be reproduced:—
“Sir,
“I don’t rightly know whether this here is your money or Nery’s. Nor I don’t know where it comes from, after what you said when you was here with her Friday. I can work for my living, thanks be to Him to whom thanks is due, and I don’t put money in my pocket as I don’t know whose pocket it come out of.
“Your humble servant,
“Susan Bort.”
“Susan Bort!” exclaimed Gerald. “Now, who the deuce is Susan Bort, and what the deuce does she mean?”
“Unless you tell us what she says——” began Lord Tottlebury.
Gerald read the letter again, with a growing feeling of uneasiness. He noticed that the postmark was Liverpool. It so chanced that he had not been to Liverpool for more than a year. And who was Susan Bort?