paired off with Sybil, as the party mounted the marble steps to the terrace.
“Jem,” said Mrs. Sadgrove, scanning the rugged face of her spouse with a sidelong scrutiny, “I received an anonymous letter this morning. Let them get ahead a bit, and I’ll show it to you.”
The screed which she put into his hand contained but five words:
“There is danger from Ziegler.”
General Sadgrove’s Eastern experiences had not educated him into an expert in calligraphy, but it needed no particular insight to perceive that this was a lady’s handwriting, clumsily disguised. He transferred his attention to the paper, half a sheet of “note”; and here he was rewarded with a startling discovery. He had noticed that the letter of acceptance from Mrs. Talmage Eglinton, which the Duke had received at breakfast, had been heavily charged with a peculiar perfume, and this unsigned missive was simply reeking of the same pungent fragrance. He had sat next the Duke, and knew that there was no mistake.
“You have no idea who sent this?” he asked.
“I seem to recognize the scent as having
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