The candle nearly fell from his hand, so great was the astonishment which immediately seized upon him.
That address consisted simply of the words "Anthony Tidkins!"—but the handwriting—Oh! there was no possibility of mistaking that! Markham knew it so well; and though years had elapsed since he had last seen it, still it was familiar to him as his own—the more so, as it remained unchanged in style;—for it was the writing of his brother Eugene!
With a hasty but trembling hand he opened the letter, the wafer of which had already been broken;—he did not hesitate to read the contents;—judging by his own frank and generous heart, he conceived that such a licence was permitted between brothers. Moreover, he experienced a profound and painful anxiety to ascertain what link could connect his brother with the terrible individual to whom the letter was addressed.
But all that the letter contained was this:—
"Come to me to-night without fail, between eleven and twelve. Knock in the usual manner."
Richard examined the handwriting with the most minute attention; and the longer he scrutinized it, the more he became confirmed in his belief that it was Eugene's.
But Eugene a patron or colleague of the greatest miscreant that had ever disgraced human nature! Was such a thing possible?
The letter bore no date—no signature—and was addressed from no place. It had no post-mark upon it, and had, therefore, evidently been delivered by a private hand.
"Oh!" thought Richard within himself, "if my unhappy brother have really been the victim, the associate, or the employer of that incarnate demon, may God grant that the wretch is indeed no more—for the sake of Eugene!"
And then his curiosity to ascertain the truth relative to the alleged assassination of Tidkins, became more poignant.