During the next three days I was greatly occupied by my own affairs, which had been neglected by my year’s absence at the Antipodes. Yet time after time I felt the keenest anxiety as to what could be contained in the dead man’s letter of instruction, and in that corroded cylinder of bronze.
At last, however, I followed the mortal remains of my mysterious friend to Highgate Cemetery, the sole mourner, and after I had seen the coffin committed to the grave I returned to the hotel, where the statue of Osiris stood upon my table, and there, with impatient fingers, tore open the letter.
I read it through.
Then I stood staring at the unevenly scribbled words—staring at them like a man in a dream.
What I read there held me aghast, amazed, stupefied.
Chapter Three.
What Mr Arnold Left Behind.
The letter, written upon the notepaper of R.M.S. Miltiades, was dated four days prior to our arrival in London.