Chapter Twenty Four.
A Woman’s Word.
A hot, dusty walk took me beside the telegraph wires back to Bath, and the remainder of the day I spent in idleness in the hotel.
If the great French detective were in the vicinity then I had no desire to be seen by him. Therefore I deemed it best to lie quite low until nightfall.
At four o’clock, after great delay I got on to Tucker on the telephone, and inquired if there had been any letters or messages for me.
“The police have been here again, and there’s a telephone message, sir,” replied the old man’s voice. “It came about eleven o’clock, from a lady, sir. I took it down.”
“Read it over,” I said.
Then, listening intently, I heard the old man’s voice say—
“The message, sir, is: ‘Please ask Mr Kemball to ring up, if possible, 802 Bournemouth—the Royal Bath Hotel—at six o’clock this evening—from Miss Seymour.’”
My heart gave a bound of delight.