Purdie unfolded the pink paper and read.
"On the track all right understand Purdie is in town if he comes to
Star Street explain all to him will wire again later in day."
"Good!" said Purdie. He handed back the telegram and looked meditatively at Melky. "Are you busy this morning?" he asked.
"Doing no business whatever, mister," lisped Melky, solemnly. "Not until this business is settled—not me!"
"Come to the hotel with me," continued Purdie. "I want to talk to you about something."
But when they reached the hotel, all thought of conversation was driven out of Purdie's mind for the moment. The hall-porter handed him a note, remarking that it had just come. Purdie's face flushed as he recognized the handwriting: he turned sharply away and tore open the envelope. Inside, on a half-sheet of notepaper, were a few lines—from the pretty governess at Mr. Spencer Levendale's.
"Can you come here at once and ask for me? There is something seriously wrong: I am much troubled and have no one in London I can consult."
With a hasty excuse to Melky, Purdie ran out of the hotel, and set off in quick response to the note.