Frank stared, but the man seemed prepared for some little hesitation, and without waiting for an answer, thrust a note into Frank's hand.
"From Lord Guildford, sir," he said.
The train moved off, and Frank tore open the envelope.
"Why, Stella," he exclaimed, in an excited whisper, though they were alone in the carriage, "it is from Lord Leycester. Look here! he wants us to get out at the station before London—at Vauxhall—he has changed his plans slightly," and he held the note out to her.
Stella took it. It was written on paper bearing the Wyndward crest; the hand-writing was exactly like that of Lord Leycester. No suspicion of its genuineness crossed her mind for a moment, but yet she said:
"But—Frank—isn't Lord Leycester in London?"
Frank thought a moment.
"Yes," he said; "but he must have sent this down to Lord Guildford; sent it down by special messenger—special train perhaps. It wouldn't matter to him what trouble or expense he took. And yet how careful he is. He asks us to destroy it at once. Tear it up, Stella, and throw it out of the window."
Stella read the note again, and then slowly and reluctantly tore it into small fragments and dropped it out of the window.
"Of course we must stop," said Frank. "I think I know what it is. Something had prevented him from meeting us, and he thought you would rather get out at a nearer station than go through the crowd at the terminus. Isn't it thoughtful and considerate of him?"