Would it not be better if he were to act, as it were, for Mr. Kyser, and, under the name of Sydney, gather what information he could from Mr. Nixon? He would then be able to judge more clearly what it were best to do.
Of course, in his own mind, Edward knew well that to act as he suggested to himself was taking a most unwarrantable liberty with another's affairs; but he was hardly himself. The excitement of the last few days had had anything but a salutary effect upon his moral balance; he had been living in a hot-bed of lies, and his discriminating powers of right and wrong had deteriorated sadly.
Who could say but that in this letter was a way out of the hideous mess he had made of things up at Adderbury Cottage? There was nothing against his going to St. Mary Axe. The letter plainly showed that Mr. Kyser and Mr. Nixon were unacquainted. There would be nothing to tell him from the real Mr. Sydney. It would at least fill in the time during which he must remain away from the cottage.
Edward Povey called the waiter and borrowed a time-table. He consulted this, then made his way to the writing-room, where he found a bottle of red ink. From the head of Mr. Baxendale's letter he tore the crest and heading, and across it he wrote the words mentioned in the letter. This he folded and placed in his pocket-book.
At half-past three the same afternoon Mr. Edward Povey, alias, for the moment, Mr. Sydney, pushed open the swing doors of Mr. Abraham Nixon's office in St. Mary Axe—and came to grips with Romance.
CHAPTER V
AN ECHO OF A TRAGEDY AND THE DRAINAGE OF A COTTAGE
As Edward was, after sending in his slip of paper, ushered into the private office, a tall, gaunt man of unmistakable solicitor type rose from his desk and crossed over to him with extended hand. Edward put his out also and winced somewhat as it was tightly engulfed by the bony fingers of the solicitor.
"Mr. Sydney, I understand."