"A bright, clear, frosty morning," Mr. Follett went on with cheerful garrulity, as he slowly seated himself in his own chair. "Yes, John's spoke o' you often—often. We're old shipmates, him an' me," he concluded, with an explanatory wave about the room.
"So I understand," said Mountjoy, easily; "and bound by many enduring ties, I have no doubt."
Presently he assumed an attitude extremely business-like. Arising and going to the chest where lay his overcoat, he produced from one of the pockets a long, legal-looking envelope.
"Here I have some very important items of news, gleaned, since John's departure, from the columns of the local press. There is also a letter from myself setting forth a good deal of matter concerning a case which now occupies his exclusive attention and endeavors; having the requisite postage attached, all that is now necessary to forward this envelope upon its way, is—the address." He tossed it upon the table. "There, I leave it to your care."
"It shall go to John to-day," quietly remarked Mr. Follett. His face assumed a thoughtful expression as he slowly filled and lighted a pipe.
"Lawyer," he went on after a puff or two, "I'm glad you come just when you did. There's a matter I want to talk to you about; John would want that you know it."
"Very well," the guest acquiesced; and with much difficulty Mr. Follett arose and made his way to the mantel, where he extracted a letter from a mother-of-pearl box standing there.
"Look at that," handing the missive to the lawyer and resuming his seat. "Read that an' tell me what you make of it."
The envelope, very much soiled and crumpled, bore the simple superscription, in pencil, "La Señorita Dolores," and nothing else. One end had been torn open, and there appeared a portion of a sheet of note-paper upon which was written, also in pencil, four words, "El rayo ha cáido."
"Well," said Mr. Mountjoy, presently, "I make very little of it. Spanish, I suppose?"