I read: "Slight delay. Will meet you at eight with the goods." The message was signed: "Cato."
"Let's see," said Holmes. It is now six-forty-five. Here—lend me your fountain-pen, Jenkins.
I produced the desired article and Holmes, in an admirably feigned hand, added to the message the words: "at the Abbey, Lafayette Boulevard. Safer," restored it in amended form to its envelope.
"Call one of the bell-boys, please," he said to the waiter.
A moment later, a second buttons appeared.
"This isn't for me, boy," said Holmes, handing the message back to him.
"Better take it to the office."
"Very good, sir," said the lad, and off he went.
A few minutes after this incident, Sir Henry again rose impatiently and left the room, and, at a proper distance to the rear, Holmes followed him. Darlington stopped at the desk, and, observing the telegram in his box, called for it and opened it. His face flushed as he tore it into scraps and made for the elevator, into which he disappeared.
"He's nibbling the bait all right," said Holmes, gleefully. "We'll just wait around here until he starts, and then we'll see what we can do with Cato. This is quite an adventure."
"What do you suppose it's all about?" I asked.