"At one time, I knew him quite well, sir," and his voice was still
lower.

"No doubt," I went on, more and more interested, "you also knew his
very fascinating daughter."

A wave of colour crimsoned his face.

"Why are you asking me these questions, Mr. Lester?" he demanded.

"Because," I said, "the message I have is from that young lady, and
is for a man named Frederic Swain."

He was on his feet, staring at me, and all the blood was gone from his
cheeks.

"A message!" he cried. "From her! From Marjorie! What is it, Mr.
Lester? For God's sake...."

"Here it is," I said, and handed him the letter.

He seized it, took one look at the address, then turned away to the
window and ripped the envelope open. He unfolded the sheet of paper it
contained, and as his eyes ran along it, his face grew whiter still.
At last he raised his eyes and stared at me with the look of a man who
felt the world tottering about him.