the way to the dining-room, and it was not until he had dismissed the butler with the assurance that they would need nothing more that night that he found speech in the curt monosyllable, “Well?”
For answer Alec handed him a telegraph form conveying the message:
“To A. Forsyth, passenger by 8.45, St. Pancras terminus.
“Come back at once, urgent. Am in great distress. Persons threatening Duke detained here. He will be quite safe if he goes on, though not if he returns with you—Sybil Hanbury, Beaumanoir House.”
The General glanced through it and gripped the position.
“Beaumanoir was in the 8.45?” he snapped. “That telegram is a forgery, and you show it to me to explain your separation from him?”
Forsyth bowed his head in grieved assent to both questions.
“I am, of course, to blame for trusting that infernal thing,” he said. “But I had better put you in possession of the facts at once, for until I reached Tarrant Road station and
[148]
