Anthony did not immediately reply. He stood before Clarice, biting his nails and thinking. "When I went up to town this morning," he said, slowly, "Ferdy asked me to get him any letters that might be waiting for him at Sir Daniel Jerce's place in Harley Street."
"Yes. Ferdy lives with him. Well?"
"Jerce was away, and had been for some time. Down in Whitechapel, I think the servant said. It was just as well."
"Why?" asked Clarice, rising, as Ackworth took three letters from his pocket.
"Because he might have seen this especial letter addressed to Ferdy--this letter stamped with the Purple Fern."
Clarice took the square envelope he held out. It was addressed to her brother at Jerce's house, and on the flap of the envelope, in purple wax, was stamped a small fern. Few people, unless they looked very closely, would have noticed the fern, and certainly nine people out of ten would not have connected the stamp with the crimes, unless the murders were in their minds. Apparently, the tenth and more observant person was Anthony. "I intend to take that letter to Ferdy, and make him open it in my presence," said Ackworth, "and--oh, Clarice, what are you doing?"
"I am opening the letter," said the girl, calmly. "I take all responsibility for doing so, and will tell Ferdy."
"Still, it is not quite right to open----"
"Not quite right!" repeated Clarice, fiercely, "do you think I care for that when Ferdy's neck may be at stake. I do this"--she opened the letter--"in a most deliberate way, and well knowing what I am doing. Now I shall read it."
Anthony could not but admit that Clarice was right, and secretly thought that it would be better for her to read the letter than for the police to scan its contents. She read quietly enough, and then passed it to her lover. "There's a masked ball at the Shah's Rooms to-night," she said, irrelevantly.