"H'm! Mourning! Will you bet, Charlot?"
"Deep mourning," said Charlot: "then I bet it is a declaration. I expect you will win again, for very likely it is a begging letter. Black edges stir compassion."
Valgrand was reading the letter, carelessly to begin with, then with deep attention. He reached the signature at the end, and then read it through again, aloud this time, punctuating his reading with flippant comments: "'In creating the part of the criminal in the tragedy to-night, you made yourself up into a most marvellous likeness of Gurn, the man who murdered Lord Beltham. Come to-night, at two o'clock, in your costume, to 22 rue Messier. Take care not to be seen, but come. Someone who loves you is waiting for you there.'"
"And it is signed——?" said the dresser.
"That, my boy, I'm not going to tell you," said Valgrand, and he put the letter carefully into his pocket-book. "Why, man, what are you up to?" he added, as the dresser came up to him to take his clothes.
"Up to?" the servant exclaimed: "I am only helping you to get your things off."
"Idiot!" laughed Valgrand. "Didn't you understand? Give me my black tie and villain's coat again."
"What on earth is the matter with you?" Charlot asked with some uneasiness. "Surely you are not thinking of going?"
"Not going? Why, in the whole of my career as amorist, I have never had such an opportunity before!"
"It may be a hoax."