The envelope was full of crinkly pieces of paper--bank-notes. There were ten of them. Each was for a thousand pounds. Mr Coventry stared at them with bewildered amazement.
"Someone is having a joke with me! Bank of Elegance, for a fiver!"
But they were not on the Bank of Elegance. Mr Coventry fancied that he knew a genuine bank-note when he saw one. After examination, he concluded that if these were forgeries, then he was not so good a judge as he thought he was. He took a five-pound note from his pocket-book for the purpose of comparison.
"Right uns, as I'm a sinner! Then, in that case, it strikes me they've been sent to the wrong address."
In his desire to establish the genuineness of the notes, he had temporarily overlooked a sheet of paper which he had drawn with them from the envelope. This he now examined. It was a single sheet of large post. On it these words were typewritten,--
"The accompanying bank-notes (£10,000) are forwarded to Mr George Coventry, to enable him to pay the losses which he has experienced during the Brighton races."
When Mr Coventry read this, his bewilderment, instead of being diminished, was considerably increased. There was no signature, no address, no clue to the sender. One type-writer is like another, so that there was no clue in the words themselves. Someone, of infinite faith, had entrusted £10,000 to the guardianship of a flimsy envelope and of a penny stamp. Mr Coventry had flattered himself that no one knew--as yet--of the particularly tight place that he was in. Here was proof positive that he had been guilty of self-deception indeed.
He stuffed the notes into his pocket-book. He put on his hat. He went across the road to the pier. He had a problem to solve. Who had chosen so curious a method of sending him so princely a gift? He was prepared to stake his little all--that was left--that it was none of his relations. If the donor was one of his "friends," how basely had he libelled the large and miscellaneous circle of his acquaintances! And yet, a stranger? It would needs be an eccentric stranger who would send an anonymous gift of £10,000 to an unknown person, to enable that unknown person to pay his bets. This thing might have happened in the days of the fairies, but surely the wee folk are gone!
"Would--would you lend me your arm? I--I am afraid I have hurt my foot."
Mr Coventry was standing at the head of the flight of steps which led to the landing-stage. The Worthing boat was just gone. There was a crowd of people to see it start. Although he was one of them, Mr Coventry had not the faintest appreciation of what the small excitement was about. The sound of a voice apparently addressing him recalled him to himself. He looked down. On the step immediately beneath him was a little woman dressed in black.