"Get some telegraph forms," she said. And when Bob brought them, she dictated telegrams to all the horde in the diplomatic form of identic notes.
"Have received sad telegram signed Penelope's husband. Recognize under painful circumstances he cannot reveal himself. Am much composed and have given up hope. It appears it cannot be Bunting, though Bunting is with her. Contradict this; also the rumour that it is the Rajah of Jugpore.
"TITANIA GORING."
"Send them," she said, "and let me rest. I presume that the right one will get it. The only trouble is that six of the wrong ones will, too."
"Goby will go insane," said Bob. "I know he will. I can't see how this will end without murder."
And Titania laughed dreadfully. She laughed so queerly that Doctor Griff was sent for, and refused to allow her to see De Vere and Goby and Bramber and Gordon and Plant and Williams and Carew. The last turned up first in a hansom cab, with a large palette knife in his hand. He had forgotten to put it down. As hansom after hansom came up and discharged one furious lover after another at the steps of Titania's town house, it looked as if Bob's foreseen murder would occur there and then. It is possible that nothing but the timely arrival of Bradstock saved London from the desirable news of a murder in high life and Belgrave Square. He got hold of the men one by one, and sent them away. As they went, a telegraph boy came to the house with another telegram addressed to Titania.
"I shall open this, Bob," said Bradstock. It was another from Pen.
"Have just learnt that you and others have been trying to discover my whereabouts. If I am pursued, I shall leave and go elsewhere. This is final.
PENELOPE."
"From Spilsborough, Bob," said Bradstock.