It was a
sensation that even custom had not dulled.
At first he turned the pages slowly, then by degrees his
fingers quickened. Beyond the fact that this present evening
was free, he knew nothing of his promised movements. The
abruptness of Chilcote's arrival at Clifford's Inn in
the afternoon had left no time for superfluous questions. He
skimmed the writing with a touch of interested haste, then all
at once he paused and smiled.
"Big enough for a tombstone!" he said below his breath as his
eyes rested on a large blue cross. Then he smiled again and
held the book to the light.
"Dine 33 Cadogan Gardens, 8 o'c. Talk with L," he read, still
speaking softly to himself.
He stood for a moment pondering on the entry, then once more
his glance reverted to the cross.
"Evidently meant it to be seen," he mused; "but why the deuce
isn't he more explicit?" As he spoke, a look of comprehension
suddenly crossed his face and the puzzled frown between his
eyebrows cleared away.
With a feeling of satisfaction he remembered Lakely's frequent
and pressing suggestion that he should dine with him at
Cadogan Gardens and discuss the political outlook.
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