"And don't flourish that envelope, it's most important and—it's too late."
"The Chartreuse is coming," broke in the Secretary. "I met the steward in the hall—a letter to be posted?" he continued, seeing the missive, which the Lieutenant held blankly in his hand. "Give it to me, and I'll attend to it."
A sharper man might have saved the situation, but sharpness was not one of Kingsland's attributes, and dazed by the sudden turn of affairs, he allowed Stanley to take the letter.
"Why, it's not addressed!" he exclaimed, examining the envelope which bore no mark save the initials A. R. in blue, on the flap. "Whom is it to go to?"
"I don't know," replied the Lieutenant, shamefacedly.
"Where did it come from?"
Kingsland looked about for help or an inspiration, and finding neither fell back on the same form of words, repeating, "I don't know."
Miss Fitzgerald had started up on the impulse of the moment, but sank back in her seat as the Secretary said, slipping the missive into the inside pocket of his dress-coat:—
"I am afraid I must constitute myself a dead-letter office, and hold this mysterious document till called for."