“Is that a message from Hugh?”
“No—not exactly. It is a message from one who is his friend.”
“You are very mysterious,” she declared. “If you do not know where he is at the moment, perhaps you know where we can find him later.”
“Yes. He is making his way to Brussels. A letter addressed to Mr. Godfrey Brown, Poste Restante, Brussels, will eventually find him. Recollect the name,” he added. “Disguise your handwriting on the envelope, and when you post it see that you are not observed. Recollect that his safety lies in your hands.”
“Trust me,” she said. “But do let me know your name,” she implored.
“Any old name is good enough for me,” he replied. “Call me Mr. X.”
“Don’t mystify me further, please.”
“Well, call me Smith, Jones, Robinson—whatever you like.”
“Then you refuse to satisfy my curiosity—eh?”
“I regret that I am compelled to do so—for certain reasons.”