“No,� said Mr. Pym staring. “I never saw it before. It didn’t come with your letters this morning.�
“It didn’t come by post at all,� said Lord Eden; “and none of the servants brought it in. How the devil did it get out here in the garden?�
He ripped it open with his finger and remained for some time staring in mystification at its contents.
Welkin Castle,
Sept. 4th, 19—.
“Dear Lord Eden,—As I understand you are making public provision for the future disposal of our historic national castles, such as Warbridge Castle, I should much appreciate any information about your intentions touching Welkin Castle, my own estate, as it would enable me to make my own arrangements.—Yours very truly,
“Welkyn of Welkin.�
“Who is Welkyn?� asked the puzzled politician; “he writes as if he knew me; but I can’t recall him at the moment. And where is Welkin Castle? We must look at the maps again.�
But though they looked at the maps for hours, and searched Burke, Debrett, “Who’s Who,� the atlas and every other work of reference, they could come upon no trace of that firm but polite country gentleman.
Lord Eden was a little worried, because he knew that curiously important people could exist in a corner in this country, and suddenly emerge from their corner to make trouble. He knew it was very important that his own governing class should stand in with him in this great public change (and private understanding), and that no rich eccentric should be left out and offended. But although he was worried to that extent, it is probable that his worry would soon have faded from his mind if it had not been for something that happened some days later.
Going out into the same garden to the same table, with the more agreeable purpose of taking tea there, he was amazed to find another letter, though this was lying not on the table but on the turf just beside it. It was unstamped like the other and addressed in the same handwriting; but its tone was more stern.