“I don’t think he cared to keep his identity from you longer,” he said, “otherwise he would not have signed his name. I think this means that the play is about to end”—tapping the letter lightly with his two fingers. “You have heard of Dick Stanhope, I take it?”
“Stanhope, the detective? Yes; and I am somewhat puzzled. I have always heard of Stanhope in connection with Van Vernet.”
“Umph! so has everybody. They’re on opposite sides of this case, however. Well, shall you follow Mr. Stanhope’s advice?”
“I shall, although his advice reads much like a command. I shall take him at his word, and go at once.”
“Now?”
“This very hour, if your carriage is at my disposal.”
“That, of course.”
“I feel like a puppet in invisible hands”—rising and moving nervously about—“but, having pledged myself to accept the guidance of this eccentric detective, I will do my part.”
“Well,” said the lawyer dryly, “you seem in a desperate hurry. Be sure you don’t overdo it.”
“I won’t; I’ll go home and wait for what is to happen in the afternoon.”