"So you are Barry Lawrence," she said abruptly, with an oddly puzzled undercurrent in her voice.
He bowed.
"Humph!" she commented. "Read that!"
As she thrust her hand toward him, Barry saw that a letter was crumpled between her fingers. Without a word, he took it eagerly and twitched it open. It was written in a simple, running hand without any special characteristics, and was unsigned:
DEAR MADAM: This is to let you know that your niece is all right as long as you keep quiet and don't interfere. Very likely you think that money and position can do everything, but in this case you're wrong.
Nothing is going to happen to the girl unless you go running to the police; but if you do, you won't be a bit better off, and there'll only be a big scandal raised which will do irreparable harm to her and her husband.
This is just a tip to keep quiet and let things run their natural course unless you want to do a lot of harm to all concerned.
Lawrence scarcely took in the meaning of the second paragraph. His brain was reeling. Her husband! He could not believe that he had read aright, and dazedly his eyes sought the paragraph and tried to focus themselves upon the amazing, impossible, dastardly words.
Before he could do so, however, an impatient movement came from the woman beside him, and her voice broke the stillness.
"Well?" she snapped. "Are you her husband?"