He laid the letter on the table. “Wonderful thing that,” he said; and Blackburn took it.
“Are you quite sure you want me to read this?” he asked.
“Quite,” replied Bainbridge, “because—because it’s changed things so—for me, you know.”
Blackburn read:
“Dear Lad:
“Something in my heart tells me this horrible thing isn’t true. It can’t be. Such things may happen to people, but somehow I can’t feel it has happened to me and mine. But if it has—and you will begin again because your best nature still cares for me—won’t you begin right now, because I love you and will try to forget. I can’t write more.
“Minnie.”
When Blackburn had finished he folded it very gently and handed it to Bainbridge.
“I congratulate you, old fellow,” he said gravely, and then: “Let’s go up to Villiers’ room and stir him up. He may be snoozing.”
They rose and climbed the stairs to the room Villiers was wont to occupy during his stay in port. The door was unlocked, and after knocking and receiving no reply they entered. It was so dark at first they could see nothing. Blackburn, dimly discerning the bureau, shuffled toward it to light the gas. But before he reached it his foot struck a soft object, and simultaneously a nauseous wave of horror swept over him.