"Read that."
He ran his eye over the lines written in her legible, decorative hand.
Collingham Lodge,
Marillo Park.
Dear Miss Follett:
My husband and I would be greatly obliged if you could give us a half hour of your time to talk over matters which may prove as important to you as to us. If you could make it convenient to come here to-morrow, Thursday, afternoon, you would find a very good train at three-twenty-five, and one by which to return at five-forty-seven. I inclose a time-table, and you would be met at Marillo Station.
Yours sincerely,
Junia Collingham.
He looked at her wonderingly.
"What's the big idea?"
"A very big idea. Don't you see? We can cut the ground right from under his feet without his ever thinking we had anything to do with it. You personally needn't be supposed to know that this nonsense has ever been in the air. It's too late for me, of course, because he and I have already talked of it. But for you—"
He tapped the paper in his hand.
"But this move I don't understand."
"Well, sit down and I'll tell you."