Gerry Bruce bade them good night and left. The four friends remained standing in the hall. Simon limped to the hall porter’s desk and asked for his key; the man gave it to him, and with it a letter.
“Hullo,” he said, “wonder who this is from — no one but my office knows where I am.”
There was a second envelope inside the first. “Letter addressed to Miriam’s house,” he remarked to Richard. “Can’t think who can have written to me there; she sent it on to the office.”
“It’s got a Russian stamp,” said the Duke with interest.
“Valeria Petrovna!” exclaimed Simon, looking at the large sheets covered with a round, childish hand. “This is awkward; she warns us that Leshkin is applying for extradition papers.”
“I have reason to know that they will not be executed,” remarked De Richleau, with a little smile.
“Say, are you sure of that?” asked Rex.
“Quite certain,” the Duke answered firmly. “I am taking steps to ensure that we shall not be troubled with any unpleasantness of that kind.”
“Great business,” grinned Rex. “Well, I’m for hitting the hay; I’ve had quite enough hectic business to last me for some little time.” He yawned loudly as he turned towards the lift.
“I will go with you,” said the Duke.