“I haven’t an idea,” retorted Robin Greve. “But I could guess. Tell me, Bruce,” he went on, stepping back from the window and motioning the boy to do the same, “did you notice anybody following you when you came here?”
Bruce shook his head.
“I’m pretty sure nobody did. You see, I came in from the Strand, down Middle Temple Lane. Once service has started at Temple Church there’s not a mouse stirring in the Inn till the church is out. I think I should have noticed if any one had followed me up to your chambers ...”
Robin set his chin squarely.
“Then he came after me,” he said. “Bruce, you’ll have to go to Harkings and get that letter!”
“By all means,” answered the boy. “But, I say, they won’t much like me butting in, will they?”
“You’ll have to say you came down to offer your sympathy, ... volunteer your services ... oh, anything. But you must get that letter! Do you understand, Bruce? You must get that letter—if you have to steal it!”
The boy gave a long whistle.
“That’s rather a tall order, isn’t it?” he said.
Robin nodded. His face was very grave.