"Good-night, Mr. Stanley," replied the unwelcome guest, with a frown of anger as he passed over the threshold. "Good-night—but not good-bye—remember we've still a score to settle."
CHAPTER XIX
A MIDNIGHT MESSAGE
Stanley closed the great front door, turned the key, shot the bolts, and lighting his bedroom candle, slowly and thoughtfully betook himself to his chamber.
Kingsland's knowledge of the mysterious letter only served to increase the Secretary's suspicions of that young officer's complicity with Darcy, while the letter itself presented such a bewildering variety of contradictory possibilities, that his mind was dazed. A further consideration of his past experiences in this matter did not make him feel any the easier, and for the first time, under the spur of doubt and mistrust, he recalled Kingsland's story of the reception of the missive, and subjected it to a critical analysis. Mr. Riddle had said, and the Lieutenant had confirmed, that the letter had been handed by the former to the latter at the Hyde Park Club, and that the Lieutenant was then "leaving the room." Yet the Secretary, now he came to think of it, was sure Mr. Riddle had not been of the company at or after dinner, and that Kingsland had not left the drawing-room or attempted to do so. Moreover, if Riddle had given him the money for the stamp, why had he not mentioned the fact at the time? The letter was evidently of importance, and intended for Darcy, a man of whose every action, he had the greatest distrust. Yet the important missive, after being lost for three days, was given by its owner to Miss Fitzgerald, who thought so little of it, that she used the envelope to scribble an address on, before giving it to the Colonel, who now had lost it under the secret door.
It was certainly a mystery to which he was unable to offer any solution, but which, nevertheless, caused him a vague uneasiness. He drew up an arm-chair beside the table, and lighting his lamp, prepared to seek distraction in a book.
The Secretary had scarcely settled to his reading, however, when he was startled by a sharp click against his window. At first he thought nothing of it, but at a repetition of the noise, plainly produced by a pebble thrown up against the glass, he opened the casement and looked out.
The night was very dark, and he could see nothing; but out of the blackness below him came a voice, which he thought he recognised, calling his name softly.
"Why, John!" he cried, scarcely believing it could be the Legation factotum. "What on earth are you doing here at this time of night?"