It had come as her communications had always come--without
bridging the way that lay between them, without furnishing him with a
clue through the method employed for their transmission that would avail
him anything, or supply him with any means of reaching her. It had been
thrust into his hand by a street urchin, as he had entered the door of
Bristol Bob's that half an hour before. He had not even questioned the
urchin--it would have been useless, futile, barren of results. A hundred
previous experiences had at least taught him that! He could surmise
about it, though, if he would; and, in view of the contents of the note
itself, surmise, in all probability, with fair accuracy. The Tocsin had
satisfied herself that he was neither at home nor at the club, and had,
therefore, chosen an inconspicuous messenger to search for "Smarlinghue"
through the underworld. And there would have been no risk. For the first
time in all the years that her letters had been the motive force, the
underlying basis of the Gray Seal's acts, it would not, as far as
dangerous consequences were concerned, have mattered if the note had
gone astray, or had even been read by others.
Pages:
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347