The address seemed very like his own handwriting—close enough to have fooled Grover, evidently.
And yet—he had been on a packet boat, bound for Europe, on the day shown by the postmark.
Quickly, startled, he opened the letter. In the same close imitation of his exact, clear script, he read:
Bombay, before sailing.
Dear Grover,
Well, we are homeward bound now. At the cost of a radio and camera left in the Lamasery of the Holiest Ones, I abandoned them. So far, no event has come from my visit there. But of course with the Eye of Om stolen, the Guardians of the Eye may strike. In haste, to catch the mail, I am,
Affectionately, Your cousin.
Roger looked up.
“But the Eye of Om was replaced! I helped.”
“Then why did you write?——”
“I was on a boat when that letter was posted, Grover!”
He bent forward, earnest and eager.
“Who?—And the Eye was not sto——”