Still standing on the doorstep, he tore open the note and read it. There were only a few lines.
“Dearest, can you take a short holiday? I have a fancy to have you come to me at my little house in Devonshire. London is stifling me, and I want to taste the full sweetness of my happiness. You see I do not doubt you! I know that you will come. Shall you mind a tiresome railway journey? The address is Bossington Old Manor House, Devonshire, and the station is Minehead. Wire what train you are coming by, and I will send something to meet you.
“Berenice.”
CHAPTER XIII
Matravers walked back to his rooms and ordered his portmanteau to be packed. Then he went out, and after making all his arrangements for an absence from town, bought a Bradshaw. There were two trains, he found, by which he could travel, one at three, the other at half-past four. He arranged to catch the earlier one, and drove to his club for lunch. Afterwards he strolled towards the smoking-room, but finding it unusually full, was on the point of withdrawing. As he lingered on the threshold, a woman’s name fell upon his ears. The speaker was Mr. Thorndyke. He became rigid.
“Why, yes, I gave her the victoria,” he was saying. “We called it a birthday present, or something of that sort. I supposed every one knew about that. Those little arrangements generally are known somehow!”
The innuendo was unmistakable. Matravers advanced with his usual leisurely walk to the little group of men.