“George Yard,
“Lombard Street, E. C.
“25th June, 1911.
“Dear Mrs. Purcell,
“I have just received from your husband a letter with certain enclosures which have caused me some surprise. The envelope is addressed to me in his handwriting and the letter, which is unsigned, is also in his hand; but neither the letter nor the other contents could possibly have been intended for me and it is manifest that they have been placed in the wrong envelope.
“The postmark shows that the letter was posted at Penzance at 8.30 p.m. on the 23rd instant. It was opened by me, and the contents, which have been seen by no one but me, have been deposited in my private safe, of which I alone have the key.
“Will you very kindly acquaint your husband with these facts and request him to call on me at his early convenience?
“I am, dear Mrs. Purcell,
“Yours sincerely,
“Joseph Penfield.
“Mrs. Daniel Purcell,
“Sennen, Cornwall.”
Rodney read the solicitor’s letter through twice, refolded it, replaced it in its envelope and returned it to Margaret.
“Well, what do you think of it?” the latter asked.
Rodney reflected for some moments.
“It’s a very careful letter,” he replied at length.
“Yes, I know, and that is a very careful answer, but not very helpful. Now do drop the lawyer and tell me just what you think like a good friend.”
Rodney looked at her quickly with a faint smile and yet very earnestly. He found it strangely pleasant to be called a good friend by Margaret Purcell.
“I gather,” he said slowly, “from the tone of Mr. Penfield’s letter that he found something in that envelope that your husband would not have wished him to see; something that he had reasons for wishing no one to see but the person for whom it was meant.”
“Do you mean something discreditable or compromising?”
“We mustn’t jump at conclusions. Mr. Penfield is very reticent so, presumably, he has some reasons for reticence; otherwise he would have said plainly what the envelope contained. But why does he write to you? Doesn’t he know your husband’s address?”