“At the Home Office,” she said. “He is certain to be there, but I expect he has been round to Leveson Square this morning.”
“I will send off a wire at once, and then I will take my leave.”
“Certainly not,” she said. “You must stay to lunch, if you don’t mind a house of mourning,” she added sadly.
At that moment a knock came at the door, and the butler entered.
“The post, Miss,” he said, presenting a salver, “and the postman brought this telegram at the same time. Is there any answer?”
She broke the envelope and read, a look of pleasure passing over her face.
“This is from Eric—Mr. Sanders, he is coming down here to-day. I am so glad. It will save you the trouble of wiring.”
Collins said nothing. The butler had handed him a letter in Sinclair’s writing. He put it into his pocket, and rose to his feet. “I am very glad for your sake,” he said. “You will be glad to have a man’s advice. I suppose you will be coming to Town?”
“Of course. I ought to go at once, but it is such a shock. I think I must wait till tomorrow.”
“If you will excuse me, I will just go and read this letter, then,” he said, and took his departure.