"What do you want to do with it?" demanded Hetherwick. "What's your notion?"
But Mapperley only chuckled again and without giving any answer restored the azure-tinted envelope and its contents to his pocket.
CHAPTER XXII
THE HIGHLY-RESPECTABLE SOLICITOR
Lord Morradale, who kept up honest, country-squire habits even in London, had gone to bed when Hetherwick and Mapperley arrived at his house, but he lost little time in making an appearance, in pyjamas and dressing-gown, and listened eagerly to Hetherwick's account of the recent transactions.
"Force!" he muttered, nodding his head at each point of the story. "Force! got it out of her by force. That is, if the order's genuine."
Mapperley produced the sheet of paper, which he had filched under the caretaker's eyes, and silently handed it over.
"Oh, that's Madame Listorelle's handwriting!" exclaimed Lord Morradale. "Hers, without doubt. Difficult to imitate, of course. Oh, yes—hers! Well, that proves what I've just said, Mr. Hetherwick—force! She's in their power—with the young lady, Miss—Miss—Featherstone, to be sure—and they've made her write that. Next, they'll make her write an order on the Imperial Safe Deposit. We must be beforehand with them there. Early—early as possible in the morning. Meet me at Matherfield's—I think he's pretty keen. Bless me! what a pack of villains! Now I wonder where, in all London, these unfortunate ladies are?"
"That's precisely what all this ought to help us to find out," remarked Hetherwick. "I'm not so much concerned about the valuables these men are after as about the safety of——"