"I'll come to Greengates, of course, if you want me, Sir Richard," said Anstice immediately. "But I hope you are not ill—nor Lady Laura?"
"No, my sister's all right—so am I." There was a pause. "But I—well, I'm rather worried, and I want to see you."
"Very well, sir. I'll be round at eleven. Will that suit you?"
"Yes, eleven will do well. Au revoir till then," and Sir Richard rang off with a promptitude which forbade further discussion for the moment.
As he went back to his cooling coffee Anstice wondered vaguely what Sir Richard could have to say; but since speculation was mere idle waste of time he dismissed the matter from his mind and finished his breakfast in haste.
It was nearly noon when he drove his car up to the great hall door of Greengates; but the words of apology for his tardy arrival died on his lips when he caught sight of Sir Richard's face.
"I say, I'm afraid you're ill, after all!" Anstice was genuinely concerned; and Sir Richard's strained features relaxed into a smile.
"No, I'm perfectly well. Only, as I told you, I have been upset this morning; and—well, I'll explain and you will see there is something to worry about."
Without more ado he walked over to his substantial roll-top desk, and unlocking a drawer took from thence an envelope which he handled gingerly as though it were unpleasing to him.
From the envelope he drew a sheet of thin paper; and Anstice, watching him closely, felt still more mystified by his distasteful expression.