With Nogam out of the way, Victor enclosed the telegram in a new envelope and addressed it simply to “Mr. Sturm—by hand.” Then he took a sheet of the stamped notepaper of Frampton Court, tore it roughly, at the fold, and on the unstamped half inscribed several characters in Chinese, using a pencil with a fat, soft lead for this purpose. This message sealed into a second envelope without superscription, he lighted a cigarette and sat smiling with anticipative relish through its smoke, a smile swiftly abolished as the door re-opened; though Nogam found him in what seemed to be a mood of rare sweet temper.
Taking the railway guide, Victor ruffled its pages, and after brief study of the proper table remarked:
“Afraid I must ask you to run up to town for me to-night, Nogam. If you don’t mind ...”
“Only too glad to oblige, sir.”
“I find I have left important papers behind. Give this to Shaik Tsin”—he handed over the blank envelope—“and he will find them for you. You can catch the ten-fifteen up, and return by the twelve-three from Charing Cross.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Oh—and see that Mr. Sturm gets this, too, will you? If he isn’t in, give it to Shaik Tsin to hand to him. Say it’s urgent.”
“Quite so, sir.”
“That is all. But don’t fail to catch the twelve-three back. I must have the papers to-night.”
“I shan’t fail you, sir—D.V.”