At ten o'clock on this same morning Mr. Samuel Buzza sat by the Club window, alternately skimming his morning paper and sipping his morning draught. He was alone, for the habit of early rising was fast following the other virtues of antique Troy, and the members rarely mustered in force before eleven.
He had read all the murders and sporting intelligence, and was about to glance at the affairs of Europe, when Mrs. Cripps, the caretaker, entered in a hurry and a clean white apron.
"If you please, sir, there's Seth Udy's little boy below with a note for you. I'd have brought it up, but he says he must give it hisself."
Sam, descending with some wonder, encountered Mr. Moggridge in the passage. The rivals drew aside to let each other pass. On the doorstep stood a ragged urchin, and waved a letter.
"For you, sir; an' plaise you'm to tell me 'yes' or 'no,' so quick as possible."
Sam took the letter, glanced at the neat, feminine handwriting of the address, and tore open the envelope.
"Dear Mr. Buzza,
"If you care to remember what was spoken the other evening, you will to-night help a most unhappy woman. You will go to the captain's cabin of the Wreck which we visited together, and find there a small portmanteau. It may be carried in the hand, and holds the few necessaries I have hidden for my flight, but please carry it carefully. If you will be waiting with this by the sign-post at the Five-Lanes' corner, at 11.30 to-night, no words of mine will repay you. Should you refuse, I am a wretched woman; but in any case I know I may trust you to say no word of this.
"Look out for the closed carriage and pair. A word to the bearer will tell me that I may hope, or that you care nothing for me.
G. G.-S.
"P.S.—Be very careful not to shake the portmanteau."
"Dear Mr. Buzza,
"If you care to remember what was spoken the other evening, you will to-night help a most unhappy woman. You will go to the captain's cabin of the Wreck which we visited together, and find there a small portmanteau. It may be carried in the hand, and holds the few necessaries I have hidden for my flight, but please carry it carefully. If you will be waiting with this by the sign-post at the Five-Lanes' corner, at 11.30 to-night, no words of mine will repay you. Should you refuse, I am a wretched woman; but in any case I know I may trust you to say no word of this.
"Look out for the closed carriage and pair. A word to the bearer will tell me that I may hope, or that you care nothing for me.
G. G.-S.
"P.S.—Be very careful not to shake the portmanteau."
"What be I to say, plaise, sir?"
Sam, who had read the letter for a third time syllable by syllable, looked around helplessly.