Now, Patricia hesitated no longer. His pen, the pen she had given him, was lying in a little lacquer pen-tray—her gift too. She picked it out; unscrewed the mechanism; sat down to the desk; drew a sheet of note-paper from its rack; and wrote, wrote for the life of a man. . . .
Her quick movements shook the desk-top; till the pistol beside her quivered. It quivered to her hand as she wrote. She could not keep her eyes away from the pistol. . . .
“Francis has probably told you about me. I am his cousin’s wife—his cousin Peter’s wife. He does not know I am writing to you—he has never told me or any one about you. I am writing this in his house—he is not here. I don’t quite know what to say to you. I can only tell you that he needs you very desperately. If you love him you ought to come to him. I don’t know if you love him or if you can come to him—but I do know that it is a question of life or death for Francis.” . . .
She signed her name and address legibly at foot of the letter; rose with it in her hand; walked to the fireplace; dried the single sheet at the flame. Again, the whole affair seemed fantastic. She wanted to throw the letter on the fire: till, looking over her shoulder, she saw the pistol, black and menacing on the desk-top.
She rang the bell; walked back to the writing-desk; found an envelope, folded the sheet; sealed it up.
“You rang for me, Madam,” said Prout, appearing silently in the doorway.
“Yes.” She handed him the closed envelope. “You know Miss Cochrane’s address, I suppose.”
“Yes, Madam”—obviously, the valet wanted to thank her, to ask questions. He began to stammer something; but Patricia cut him short.
“Have it registered, please: and, Prout”—her eyes flickered to the pistol on the writing-desk—“I thought you said you were fond of him!”
She was out of the room and down the stairs before the old man could answer. He heard the rattle of her stick, the clang of front door closing, as he stood by the window, pistol grasped gingerly in one hand, unaddressed letter in the other. “I ought to have seen her out,” thought the valet. “I ought to have seen her out.”