"You, Jim—then?" she queried, turning to the Secretary.
"I don't generally carry my correspondence round in my evening clothes," he protested, laughing.
"Idiot!" she retorted, with an affected depth of scorn. "How can you tell unless you've looked?"
"Oh well," he replied, "to please you——" and thrust his hand into the pocket of his coat. "Why," he exclaimed, "here is something! I declare, it's that mysterious letter which I intercepted at the Hyde Park Club night before last. Let me see, Kingsland, I think it dropped from the ceiling into your hands."
"The letter belongs to me," came the keen voice of Mr. Riddle.
"To you!" said Stanley, in genuine surprise.
"Yes. I gave it to Lieutenant Kingsland at the Hyde Park Club."
"But surely," contended the Secretary, "Lieutenant Kingsland told me, only that morning, that he didn't know who you were."
Silence fell on the little company. The Lieutenant flushed and moved uneasily in his seat, and Miss Fitzgerald leaned forward with a strained look in her face, while the keen, restless eye of Mr. Riddle swept round the table, taking in all present at a glance.
Then he spoke, with quick decision.