“Mr. Voles called to see you, my Lord, shortly after twelve. He stated that he had an appointment with you. He is to call again at quarter past seven.”
Jones took the letter and went with it to the room where he had sat that morning. Upon the table lay all the letters that he had not opened that morning. He had forgotten these. Here was a mistake. If he wished to hold to his position for even a few days, it would be necessary to guard against mistakes like this.
He hurriedly opened them, merely glancing at the contents, which for the most part were unintelligible to him.
There was a dinner invitation from Lady Snorries—whoever she might be—and a letter beginning “Dear old Boy” from a female who signed herself “Julie,” an appeal from a begging letter writer, and a letter beginning “Dear Rochester” from a gentleman who signed himself simply “Childersley.”
The last letter he opened was the one he had just received from the servant.
It was written on poor paper, and it ran:
“Stick to it—if you can. You’ll see why I couldn’t. There’s a fiver under the papers of the top right hand drawer of bureau in smoke room.
”Rochester.“
Jones knew that this letter, though addressed to the Earl of Rochester, was meant for him, and was written by Rochester, written probably on some bar counter, and posted at the nearest pillar box just before he had committed the act.
He went to the drawer in the bureau indicated, raised the papers in it and found a five pound note.