The Duke passed over a flimsy envelope with which he had been toying. “Just so, my friend,” he said, lightly, “you will note that this bears a Finnish stamp, and was posted in Helsingfors.”
Simon examined the writing on the envelope. It was thin and angular — very different from the pencil scrawl of the letter — and bore the legend:
Monsieur Ricillou,
No. I Maison Arrol,
Londres,
Gde. Bretagne.
“I — er — suppose it’s not a mistake?” ventured Simon, thoughtfully. “I mean, it is meant for you?”
The Duke ran the tips of his fingers down his lean, handsome face. “At first I was inclined to suppose that it had been sent here in error, but now I am convinced that it was intended for me.”
“Wonder it ever got here — addressed like this!”
“Yes, the name misspelt — also Errol House, no mention of Curzon Street, or Mayfair, or any district number. But tell me — who do you think it is from?”