"He has kept me waiting longer than was agreeable," I remarked, taking the note and breaking the seal.
The letter was neither signed nor addressed, and my face must have shown surprise at the contents, as, looking up suddenly, I found the messenger watching me with undisguised alarm. Springing across the room I fastened the door, and, picking up a pistol, said quietly, "Raise your voice above a whisper and I fire! Now attend to me. Do you know what is in this note?"
"No!" he answered boldly.
"That is false," I said, still speaking quietly, "and will do you no good. Tell me what is in it."
"Has not monsieur learned to read?" he asked in such a matter-of-fact manner that I burst out laughing.
"You are a brave little man, and when you see your master tell him I said so."
"What name shall I give him, monsieur?"
"Name, you rascal? Why, my own, De Lalande! Now sit there and don't stir, while I read this again."
It was a queer communication, and only the fact of my chance meeting with the youngster in the Rue de Roi gave me anything like a clue as to its meaning.
This was what I read.