Dear Dr. Fortescue,
I am in great trouble and beg you to come to me as soon as you possibly can.
Sincerely yours,
May Derwent.
“Any answer, sir?”
“No.” I should be there as soon as the messenger.
I was so dreadfully alarmed that I felt stunned for a moment. Pulling myself together, I started to my feet, when my eyes fell on the envelope, lying beside my plate. A large crest was emblazoned on its back. I stood spell-bound, for that crest was, alas, not unfamiliar to me. I could not be mistaken—it was identical with the one engraved on the sleeve-link which had been found on the body of the murdered man. What did this similarity mean? Was it possible that the victim’s real name was Derwent? That would account for the coincidence of the two Allans, and all I knew of one was equally applicable to the other. Merritt had told me that Brown was supposed to have been born a gentleman, and often posed as an Englishman of title. But if the corpse was indeed that of her brother, why had May not recognised it? No, the probabilities were, as the detective had said, that the crest meant nothing.
Still deeply perturbed, I hastened to the hotel. On giving my name I was at once ushered into the Derwent’s private sitting-room. It was empty, but a moment later May appeared. She was excessively pale, and heavy dark rings encircled her eyes. I longed to take her in my arms, but all I dared to do was to detain her small hand in mine till after several efforts on her part to free herself—very gentle efforts, however—I finally relinquished it.
“It is kind of you to come so soon.”
“You knew I would come the moment I received your message.”
“I hoped so. All night long I have lain awake, praying for courage to make a confession, knowing all the time that if I do so it will break my mother’s heart.”