ONE WHO KNOWS.
Mr. Walraven read and reread these brief lines, and stood and stared at Sir Roger Trajenna.
"Good heavens! You got this through the post-office?"
"I did, an hour ago, and came here at once. Do you believe it?"
"How can I tell? Let us hope it may be true. It is of a piece with the rest of the mystery. The writing, as usual in these anonymous letters, is disguised. Can Mollie herself be the writer?"
"Mollie!" The baronet grew fearfully pale at the bare suggestion. "Why on earth should my affianced wife write like that? Don't you see it say a there, 'She will never be your wife?' Mollie, my bride, would never say that."
Mr. Walraven was not so sure, but he did not say so. He had very little faith in Miss Dane's stability, even in a matter of this kind.
"It is the work of some enemy," said Sir Roger, "and, as such, to be disregarded. Like all anonymous letters, it is only worthy of contempt."
People always say that of anonymous communications; but the anonymous communications invariably have their effect, notwithstanding.
"I will continue my search," pursued Sir Roger, firmly. "I will offer yet higher rewards. I will employ still more detectives. I will place this letter in their hands. No stone shall be left unturned—no money shall be spared. If I lose Mollie, life is not worth the having."