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Then I sat down, and taking a sheet of plain and very common writing-paper, I typed upon it a warning to the man who, at the Empress's suggestion, was to be so ruthlessly "removed." The words I typed were: "You will be invited to tea to-morrow by Xenie Kalatcheff. Do not accept. There is a plot to cause your death. This warning is from A Friend."
"Stupid of me not to think of it before," went on Wilkins, musingly. "We hotel men get to notice things, and I shouldn't like to be so slow as a usual thing with Ah, here it is! Got in among the steamer guides." Trask reached across for the letter. It was a large, square envelope of a bulky woven paper. On it was typed in purple: Mr. Robert Trask. Consolidated Mines Syndicate. To be called for.
To make the warning keener-edged, he lifted the typed sheets over which he had worked so late the night before, glanced at the top one, gave a snort, and tore them twice down the length of them with vicious twists of his fingers. He did not mean to be spectacular; he simply felt that way at that particular moment, and he indulged the impulse to destroy something.
He passed the typed slip to the detective. "Meaning?" said the latter, after a quick glance. Carshaw explained. "I'll find her," he added, with a catch of the breath. "I must find her. God in Heaven, man, I'll go mad if I don't!" "Cut out the stage stuff," said Clancy. "By this day week the Bureau will find a bunch of girls who're not lost yet only planning it."
The inscrutable reading world, long bored almost to death by a sameness of methods, actually rose up and waved its hat at this savage treatment, and demanded that he should continue so to deal with it. So Hugh, marvelling more than any one, continued to "lay about him with a knotted stick" as Kate, who had long typed his stories unsuccessful and successful, expressed it.
When the message was typed by the decoder Ihjel hovered over it, reading each word as it appeared on the paper. When it was finished he only snorted and went below to the galley. Brion pulled the message out of the machine and read it. Dropping into the darkness was safe enough. It was done on instruments, and the Disans were thought to have no detection apparatus.
Finish it, have it typed, and send it in, and if I can run it as a serial in The Child at Home, I shall be tremendously pleased to do so. If it goes, it ought to come out in book form, illustrated." "You really think the idea has something in it?" "I certainly do, and you know how much I believe in your work."
More, the four lines comprising it had been penned, not typed. Her instant surmise was that the summons had to do with the recent accident of Katherine Langly. She could think of no other reason for it, unless Leslie turned pale. There was another reason, but she preferred not to give it mind room. She boldly decided that she would ignore the letter that morning.
But when the first effort proved without result, I set about making a study of all the Humes in the directory. I had my secretary make me a typed list of them, with their addresses and occupations, and I pored over this for hours at a time. "There was one that caught my eye after a while; probably this was because of the unusualness of his business.
Kent went through the letters with care, and the new clerk rose in his estimation as he read the excellent dictation of the clearly typed answers. "These will do admirably," he announced. "Sit down and I will reply to the other letters." At the end of an hour Sylvester closed his stenographic note book and collected the correspondence, by that time scattered over Kent's desk.
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