"Quite right, Jimmy," I said. "Where's the note?"
He dived into his pocket, and produced a crumpled and dirty-looking envelope, which he handed to me.
"When did you get this?" I demanded, refastening the door.
"On'y just now, guv'nor. It was give me by the old Frenchwoman wot lives at 'The Laurels.'"
I crossed to the lamp, and, tearing open the flap, pulled out the enclosure. It consisted of half a sheet of notepaper closely covered in Christine's small writing.
"DEAREST,—I am giving this note to Marie, who has promised to deliver it to Jimmy. I believe she is to be trusted, but I dare not say more for fear that it should fall into the wrong hands. At the present moment I am a prisoner in my own bedroom. I expect to be free again, with Marie's help, at half-past eight this evening. If all goes well I shall come across to the island immediately. Will you be on the landing-stage at twenty minutes to nine? Come straight down across the garden and through the iron gate, but on no account leave the house a moment before it's necessary. I will explain everything when I see you. With all my love,
"CHRISTINE."
I read it through to the end, and then turned back to Jimmy, who was still standing where I had left him.
"Did the old woman say anything when she gave you this note?" I asked.
"On'y as I was to let 'er know whether you'd got it," was the answer. "She's going to wait for me at the corner o' Butcher's Lane."