He took a fragment of paper from his pocket.
“There’s a copy of the infernal thing,” he said. “Read it.”
The letter was terse, and to the point.
“Sir,
“Mr. Ronald Thoyne, who, I understand, is engaged to marry Miss Kitty Clevedon, has been guilty of bigamy. He may have a wife now living, but I cannot say that for certain. All I know is that he married my daughter under false pretences, and then, when he had tired of her, told her he had a wife living in America. He is keeping her child—his child. I advise you to institute careful inquiries into these statements, which you will find can easily be substantiated. The child is being cared for by some people named Greentree, who live at Long Burminster, and Mr. Thoyne is contributing two pounds a week for her maintenance.
“Yours truly,
“Robert Grainger.”
“Well,” Thoyne demanded, “and what do you think of it?”
“It is true about the child and the two pounds a week?”
“Yes.”
“And the other?”
“No.”
“Does anyone know the real story?”