So I withdrew to my bed-chamber, and was sound asleep in no time. Nor did I wake till the mellow booming of the Japanese gong, which serves as dinner-bell in our establishment, broke in upon my slumbers.
As I rose to my feet, something dropped from the counterpane to the floor.
Stooping to pick it up, I discovered that it was a sheet of paper, folded in the form of a cocked hat, and bearing my name written across it in Josephine's hand.
“What earthly occasion can Josephine have for writing me a note?” I wondered.
Donning my spectacles, I read as follows:
“What ever shall we do? I cannot come and say this to you in person, for I dare not leave them alone together. But he has recognised Miriam!—J.”
It took fully a minute for the significance of that sentence: “He has recognised Miriam,” to percolate my understanding, still thick with the dregs of sleep. Then I started as if I had been stung; and rushing into the passage, I called “Josephine! Josephine!” at the top of my lungs.