Excusing myself by lame apologies, I left the millionaire and went straight to my chambers.
“Saunders,” I cried as I entered, “you handed me my watch and chain this morning. Did you notice anything remarkable about it?”
“Yes, sir,” my man answered promptly. “I noticed your match-box was not there.”
“Then, confound it, I’ve lost it—I must have lost it last night,” I gasped. “I remember distinctly using it once or twice during the evening.”
“I thought you had taken it off and put it in your waistcoat-pocket,” he said. “You do sometimes.”
“Yes,” I answered. “But look here, the swivel has snapped from the box,” and taking off the chain I handed it to him to examine.
On my sitting-room table lay a note, and as I took it up I saw the envelope bore a coronet and the wyvern’s head couped at the neck vert, the crest of the Strettons.
“That came by boy-messenger a quarter of an hour ago, sir,” Saunders said, as I eagerly tore it open.
It was a hurried scribble from Dora in pencil, and read as follows: “Dear Mr Ridgeway,—I have found on my return a letter from Jack. I must have your advice at once, and will therefore call at your chambers at eleven o’clock to-morrow. The letter was posted at Dover this morning.—Yours sincerely, Dora Stretton.”
“I shall want nothing more, Saunders,” I said, as calmly as I could, and the man wishing me good-night withdrew.