"Can't they tell you anything?"
"Maybe they might be able to do so, but they refuse. All they say is that the money comes from their San Francisco agents, and that they are empowered to pay it to me."
"Have they any papers?"
"No. I asked them. They said they had none. I must wait for that sealed envelope."
"On your twenty-fifth birthday," mused Jarman. "Observe, my son, Denham states that he is to come into money _after_ his birthday. He is the same age as you are."
"And his birthday is on the same day, which makes it stranger. There is money knocking round, as you guessed. But I can't see how it is to come my way."
"You may learn when you open that envelope."
"I'll know soon then. Next month I'm twenty-five. Poor Aunt Dorothy. I wonder what she thinks of my scandal."
"Didn't you write her?"
"No. How could I. I feared lest the police might see her and make inquiries? She is a truthful old lady, and, although she would not betray me, she would give herself away by being confused. No, Eustace, it's best that my aunt should know nothing of my whereabouts."