“Yes, but they are worse than Greek to me. A series of tiny protuberances on thick brown paper. He keeps them in his safe. He read some of the letters to me: they were not very illuminating.”
“But the letter of letters?” asked Leon anxiously. “That which Lee answered—by the way, you know that Mr. Lee wrote all his letters between perforated lines?”
“I’ve seen the paper,” nodded the detective. “No, I asked him about that, but apparently he is not anxious to talk until he has seen his lawyer, who is coming down to-night. He should have been here, in fact, in time for dinner.”
They passed into the dining-room together. The blind man was waiting patiently at the head of the table, and with an apology Leon took the place that had been reserved for him. He sat with his back to the wall, facing one of the three long windows that looked out upon the park. It was a warm night and the blinds were up, as also was the middle window that faced him. He made a motion to Mr. Washington, who sat opposite him, to draw a little aside, and the American realized that he wished an uninterrupted view of the park.
“Would you like the window closed?” asked Mr. Lee, leaning forward and addressing the table in general. “I know it is open,” he said with a little laugh, “because I opened it! I am a lover of fresh air.”
They murmured their agreement and the meal went on without any extraordinary incident. Mr. Washington was one of those adaptable people who dovetail into any environment in which they find themselves. He was as much at home at Rath Hall as though he had been born and bred in the neighbourhood. Moreover, he had a special reason for jubilation: he had found a rare adder when walking in the woods that morning, and spent ten minutes explaining in what respect it differed from every other English adder.
“Is it dead?” asked Meadows nervously.
“Kill it?” said the indignant Mr. Washington. “Why should I kill it? I saw a whole lot of doves out on the lawn this morning—should I kill ’em? No, sir! I’ve got none of those mean feelings towards snakes. I guess the Lord sent snakes into this world for some other purpose than to be chased and killed every time they’re seen. I sent him up to London to-day by train to a friend of mine at the Zoological Gardens. He’ll keep him until I’m ready to take him back home.”
Meadows drew a long sigh.
“As long as he’s not in your pocket,” he said.