You know that when Sisyphus had rolled his ball—or was it a wheel?—to the top of the hill, the thing incontinently rolled all the way down again. Then, with a sigh, the prisoner walked after it, as slowly as was consistent with a show of obedience, and began again. So Leonard, with a sigh, began again, when one theory after the other broke down.
At this point the coincidences commenced. They were talking together one morning.
“If,” said Leonard, “we could only hear the man Dunning on the subject! He would be more interesting, even, than the ancient boy who scared the birds.”
“He must be dead long ago. Yet, if he could be found——”
At this moment—no coincidence, I have explained, can be considered remarkable—Leonard’s servant opened the door and brought him a bulky letter. It had an Australian postage stamp upon it. He looked carelessly at the address, and tossed it on the table to wait his convenience. As it lay on its back Constance read, printed across the securing fold, the words “John Dunning’s Sons.”
“John Dunning’s Sons,” she said. “This is strange.” She took up the letter and pointed out the name. “Just as we were talking of John Dunning. Open the letter, Leonard, and read it. Oh, this is wonderful! Open it at once.”
Leonard tore open the envelope. Within there was a letter and an enclosure. He read both rapidly.
“Good Heaven!” he cried. “It is actually the voice of the man himself, Constance; it is the voice we were asking for. It is his voice speaking from the grave.”
He read aloud both the letter and the enclosure. The following was the letter:
“Dear Sir,