“Real sorry to disturb you, Roger. Late? No, it’s quite bright and early, but they’ve rung you up from Grosvenor Gardens—Sir Robert himself.”
“Sir Robert! What on earth can he want at this hour!” he exclaimed, springing out of bed and hurrying to the telephone.
“Is that you, sir?... Those papers? They’re in the safe.... Not there! But they must be. Sealed up in one of the blue envelopes. They can’t have been stolen—it’s impossible.... Yes, of course, sir, I’ll come up at once.”
CHAPTER II “MURDER MOST FOUL!”
“I want to telephone.”
“Yes, madam. What number?”
“I—— Can’t I ring up for myself?”
The momentary hesitation in speech caused the busy little postmistress to glance up at her customer—a lady of medium height and slender figure, well but quietly dressed. She wore a motor hat with a dark-blue veil which fell loosely over her face, shrouding her features; but Mrs. Cave judged her to be handsome, and guessed her elderly, for she saw the gleam of white hair. A nervous old lady, probably unused to telephoning.