"Just come!" she said. "The boy's waiting."
Nottidge tore open the envelope, ran his eye over the message, crushed the flimsy paper in his hand with a gesture of annoyance, and turned to the housekeeper.
"No answer!" he growled. "Here, Wedgwood!" he went on. "Come out here a minute!"
He drew the detective into the hall and thrust the telegram into his hand.
"Look at that damned stuff!" he exclaimed. "What's it mean? And who the devil is it from?"
Wedgwood smoothed out the crumpled message, and first noting that it had been despatched from a City post-office and that the address was to James Nottidge, Esquire, Nottidge House, Belsize Park, with the word esquire spelled in full, read it carefully.
"No necessity whatever to worry about Miss Avice Mortover who is in perfect safety with good friends and will be forthcoming at the proper time and place."
"What's the proper time and place?" demanded Nottidge. "Who are the good friends? And why hasn't she written to me herself? What———"
