“Here, give ’em to me—that one anyhow.”
“That one” was a big, bulky, blue envelope, printed with Sir Robert’s name and address, and showing also the district postmark and a big official stamp indicative of the surcharge for an unpaid letter.
“Where the dickens is Broadway?” Warrington muttered, as he scrutinized it. “Look here, Thomson, I’m going to open this. Why the seal’s broken already!”
“Very good, my lord,” Thomson murmured deferentially but abstractedly. Yet he looked up with quickened interest as Lord Warrington uttered an involuntary exclamation.
“My lord! They—they’re not those very papers?”
“They are! By Jove, that’s the queerest thing I’ve ever known! Now, who the deuce has found and returned them?”