"Take it, and welcome, sir," he said. "I shall have my hands full for the next day or two, and anyway there is no hurry."
With the feeling that great events were in the air, Lawrence hurried round to Bruce's rooms. There was a light in the front window that disclosed the fact that Bruce had not gone to bed. He came to the door himself, looking fagged and worn out.
"I have had a trying day," he said. "My dear fellow, I am losing my connection almost as fast as I made it. I shall have to give it up."
"Rot!" Lawrence cried. "I've got some news for you. Prout has been with me and has left a letter in my possession. What do you think of that?"
Bruce read the letter slowly and carefully. Beyond establishing the fact that the murdered man had a brother he could see very little in it.
"Unless there are other letters," he concluded.
"There are five more which I have not read yet. I understand there are allusions to a certain Countess who, as Prout politely put it, shall be nameless. My boy, I feel quite certain that this will lead to--what's up?"
The shrill clatter of the telephone bell tinkled in the next room. The ring was repeated in a few seconds imperiously.
"The telephone for me," said Bruce. "I hope I shan't have to go out tonight. I'll get you to excuse me for a moment. . . . Are you there?"
A whispered voice came back; it was Hetty's voice: