“You may set that doubt at rest, Mr. Franklin, whenever you please.”
It was my turn to come to a standstill now. I tried vainly, in the gathering darkness, to see his face. In the surprise of the moment, I asked a little impatiently what he meant.
“Steady, sir!” proceeded Betteredge. “I mean what I say. Rosanna Spearman left a sealed letter behind her—a letter addressed to you.”
“Where is it?”
“In the possession of a friend of hers, at Cobb’s Hole. You must have heard tell, when you were here last, sir, of Limping Lucy—a lame girl with a crutch.”
“The fisherman’s daughter?”
“The same, Mr. Franklin.”
“Why wasn’t the letter forwarded to me?”
“Limping Lucy has a will of her own, sir. She wouldn’t give it into any hands but yours. And you had left England before I could write to you.”
“Let’s go back, Betteredge, and get it at once!”