The whole thing was done so suddenly, that neither of the friends had time to say a word before the man had passed; and when, after picking up the paper, they looked round for him, he had disappeared as quickly as he had come.
George gazed at his companion, holding the missive in his hand, and burst out laughing.
"What a queer chap! If it weren't that he touched me as he passed, and I felt that he was flesh and blood, I should be inclined to think he was a ghost. I wonder what he is up to?"
"Examine the paper. Doubtless that will enlighten us," said the practical Osterberg. "If I'm not mistaken, this is some game, in which we are wanted to participate."
George examined the paper, turning it over and over wonderingly. It was a dirty envelope, of the cheaper kind, sealed down and addressed to him.
"The mystery deepens. It's from some one who knows me, evidently. The writing seems familiar, too. I wonder——"
"Confound it, man, open it!" broke in his impatient companion. "You are right about the handwriting. It is familiar."
Helmar tore the envelope open, and examined the contents. It was a brief note, signed by Mark Arden.
The two read the contents eagerly.
"Dear George,