"Midlandshire."
He dropped the letter into the box.
"That settles everything," he muttered. "There can be no turning back now. Edward will get it by the first post to-morrow."
Why was Mr. Hazeldine posting a letter to his son, whom he would probably see in the course of the evening?
He turned back into the Strand, and entering a restaurant, called for a basin of soup. He ate about half of it, finished up with a glass of sherry, and then ordered a cab and was driven to the terminus.
Going into the cloak-room at the station, he there redeemed a black bag, precisely similar in size and appearance to the empty bag he had left in Mr. Barker's office. This bag, which apparently contained something heavy, he took with him into the carriage and placed it in the netting over his head.
There were other passengers in the compartment, but he spoke to no one. He pulled up the collar of his coat and shut his eyes, and, to all appearance, went fast asleep. The clocks were striking seven as he walked out of Ashdown station, carrying his bag in one hand and his umbrella in the other.
Mr. Hazeldine's house was not far from the station. He let himself in by means of his latchkey, and walked straight into the drawing-room, where he found his wife and daughter.
"You are late this evening, dear," said Mrs. Hazeldine, languidly, as if his being so were a matter of no moment.
"Yes, I had some special business to transact, and could not get done in time to catch the two o'clock train."