"Yes—she spoke of some one, indefinitely, you know, for whom she was acting."
"And she told you, I think, that you had been recognized, in
London, since your arrival, by some one who had known you in
Australia years before?"
"Yes—certainly she told me that."
"Just let me look at that typewritten letter again, will you?" asked Mr.
Carless. "It seems impossible, but we might get something out of that."
Mr. Cave handed the letter over, and once more it was passed from hand to hand: finally it fell into the hands of Miss Penkridge, who began to examine it with obvious curiosity.
"Afraid there's nothing to be got out of that!" sighed Mr. Carless. "The rogues were cunning enough to typewrite the message—if there'd been any handwriting, now, we might have had a chance! You say there was nothing on the envelope but your name, Mr. Cave?"
Mr. Cave opened his pocketbook again.
"There is the envelope," he said. "Nothing but Mr. Cave, as you see—that is also typewritten."
Miss Penkridge picked up the envelope as Mr. Cave tossed it across the table. She appeared to examine it carefully, but suddenly she turned to Mr. Carless.
"There is a clue in these things!" she exclaimed. "A plain clue! One that's plain enough to me, anyway. I could follow it up. I don't know whether you gentlemen can."