[CHAPTER XLIII.]
Captain Ernscliffe found that it was almost midnight when he reached home after his visit to the condemned murderer.
He was too excited for sleep, and going to the library he turned up the dimly-lighted gas and prepared to spend the remaining hours of the night among his books.
A pleasant warmth pervaded the luxurious apartment, and the fragrance of some white hyacinths, blooming in vases on the marble mantel, filled the air with sweetness.
They were Queenie's favorite flowers. He remembered the one she had worn on her breast the day he had come upon her in her strange interview with Sydney.
Breaking off a beautiful spray he pressed it to his lips, then pinned it on his coat.
"I wonder where she is now?" he said to himself, with a heavy sigh, as he drew up a chair to the table and laid his head down upon his folded arms.
Something rustled under his touch as he did so, and he looked up quickly.
There was a sealed letter lying upon the table, addressed to himself in an unfamiliar writing. It had been laid there by a servant while he was absent.