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Updated: June 11, 2025
"In haste, C.T." Christian read it, laughed carelessly, and thrust the paper into his pocket. "Trevetz writes in a good forcible style," he said, turning to greet Molly, who came, singing, downstairs at this moment. For an instant her merry eyes assumed a scrutinising, almost anxious look as she caught sight of her sister and Christian standing together. "Are you just down?" she asked carelessly.
"You remember Carl Trevetz, at Paris," continued he, "his father belonged to the Austrian Embassy!" "Yes, I remember him!" "To-morrow I will send this to him, simply asking who it is." "Yes and then?" "When the answer comes, Hilda, I will write on the outside of the envelope the name that you will find inside written by Trevetz."
I would rather have my memory confirmed by Trevetz before telling you what I know or think I know about Bruno!" Hilda was about to question him further when Molly entered the room, and the subject was perforce dropped. The next morning there came a letter for Christian from Mr. Bodery. It was short, and not very pleasant.
This morning Christian received a letter from Carl Trevetz, whom we knew in Paris, you will remember, saying that Signor Bruno's real name was Max Talma, also warning Christian to avoid him." "Is this all you know?" asked Sidney, in a peculiarly quiet tone. "That is all I know," she replied. "But it has struck me that that this may have something to do with Signor Bruno.
Trevetz is giving us all the information he can gather; but, of course, he is only able to devote a portion of his time to us. He hints that there is plenty of money in the background somewhere, and that a strong party has got up the whole affair perhaps the Church. Yours, Christian folded the letter, and replaced it in the envelope. Suddenly his attention was attracted to the latter.
He took the letters from his pocket, and looked at the addresses again. "One is from Trevetz," he said slowly, "and the other from Mrs. Strawd." "Nothing from Mr. Bodery?" asked she indifferently. He had taken a pencil from his pocket, and, turning, he held Trevetz's letter against the wall while he wrote across it. Without ceasing his occupation, and in a casual way, he replied:
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