“Give it back. I won’t take it in, Raffles.” Raffles, reflecting within himself that the Captain must have a vast amount of correspondence if he could afford to chuck away an interesting document like this, took the letter and retired.
“Wait a minute,” called the Captain, as the door was closing. “Let me look at it again.”
Raffles guessed as much, and brought the missive back triumphantly. The Captain again regarded it with expressions of anything but cordiality, and seemed half inclined to reject it once more. But he took it up again and posed it in his hand.
“You can leave it, Raffles,” said he presently; “give the postman the eightpence.”
It was some time before Captain Oliphant opened the letter. He sipped his coffee and glared at it viciously, as it lay on the table beside him.
“What game is the scoundrel up to now?” muttered he. “I began to hope I was rid of him. What does he want now?”
He opened the letter and read—
“Dear Comrade,—You have not answered my last three letters, and I feel quite anxious to know of your welfare. You will be pleased to hear that I have arranged to take my leave home during the coming autumn—”
The Captain put the letter down with an exclamation which startled the sparrows on the window-ledge, and set the breakfast cup shaking in its saucer.
“Coming home!” he gasped. Then he read on.