Afterwards Tommy walked with me as far as Victoria, where we discussed such arrangements for the future as we were in a position to make.
"I'll write to you, anyway, Neil," he said, "as soon as I've tackled Latimer; and I'll probably come down with Joyce on Tuesday. If you want me any time before, send me a wire."
I nodded. "You'll be more useful to me in London, Tommy," I said.
"All the threads of the business are up here. McMurtrie—Latimer—
George"—I paused—"I'd give something to know what those three do
between them," I added regretfully.
Tommy gripped my hand. "It's all right, old son," he said. "I'm not much of a believer in inspirations and all that sort of rot, but somehow or other I'm dead certain we're going to win out. I've had a feeling like that ever since the trial—and so has Joyce."
"Thanks, Tommy," I said briefly. "You'd give a jellyfish a backbone—you two."
And with a last squeeze of the hand I left him standing there, and set off across the station for Edith Terrace.
It was close on midnight when I got back, and every one in the house seemed to have gone to bed. The light had been put out in the hall, but the door of my sitting-room was partly open, and a small jet of gas was flickering away over the fireplace. I turned this up and, looking round, discovered a large box with Holland's label on it, a note, and a half-sheet of paper—all decorating the table in the centre of the room.
I examined the half-sheet of paper first. It contained several dirty thumb-marks and the following message, roughly scrawled in pencil:
"sir the lady with the hat cum for you about for aclock i told her as you was out and she rote this leter gerty."
Hastily picking up the envelope, I slit open the flap, and pulled out the "leter" from inside. It covered two sides, and was written in Sonia's curious, sloping, foreign-looking hand.