“I’ll be more frank with you than you are with me. I’ll give you the letter, O’Rorke.”
“But tell me who wrote it?”
“One who was your well wisher, and who told me I might trust you.”
There was never a more puzzling reply than this, for Mr. O’Rorke well knew that there were few who thought well of him, and fewer who trusted him.
“Sit down. Take a glass of wine. Drink this.” And as he spoke he filled a large goblet with sherry.
O’Rorke drained it, and looked happier.
“Take another,” said Ladarelle, as he filled it out, and O’Rorke complied, smacking his lips with satisfaction as he finished.
“When you have read the letter I’ll give you this evening, O’Rorke, you’ll see that we are two men who will readily understand each other. My friend Grenfell said——”
“Was it Mr. Grenfell wrote it?” broke in O’Rorke.
“It was. You remember him, then? He was afraid you might have forgotten his name.”