Having left his friend, Lawrence returned at once to the St. Albans. As he took his key, the clerk handed him a letter, the precise, old-fashioned handwriting of which he recognized with a quick thrill.
"Wonder what the old geezer has to say now," he said to himself as he sailed up in the elevator. "If he's thought up any more conditions, I'll balk, hanged if I won't."
There were none, however. The letter contained five one-hundred-dollar bills and a few lines of symmetrical writing on a single sheet of note paper:
You are doing admirably. Keep on as you have begun, and use the inclosed in case your expense money does not hold out.
Barry scratched his head, and sat staring at the note.
"Well, I'll be hanged!" he exclaimed. "Don't want me to do anything but spend money. It's the weirdest thing I ever ran across, sure. What in creation does it mean? What does he get out of it? If I only——"
The room telephone tinkled imperatively; and, cramming money and letter into his pocket, Lawrence sprang up and took down the receiver.
"Hello!" came in a woman's voice. "Is this Mr. Lawrence—Mr. Barry Lawrence?"
"Yes, what is it?"
"Hold the wire, please. Mrs. Ogden Wilmerding wishes to speak to you."