It ran as
follows:
Dear Mr Plover,
I am annoyed to hear that some delay has occurred in the
arrangements re Major Brown. Please see that he is attacked as
per arrangement tomorrow The coal-cellar, of course.
Yours faithfully, P. G. Northover.
Rupert Grant was leaning forward listening with hawk-like eyes. He
cut in:
"Is it dated from anywhere?"
"No--oh, yes!" replied Brown, glancing upon the paper; "14 Tanner's
Court, North--"
Rupert sprang up and struck his hands together.
"Then why are we hanging here? Let's get along. Basil, lend me your
revolver."
Basil was staring into the embers like a man in a trance; and it
was some time before he answered:
"I don't think you'll need it."
"Perhaps not," said Rupert, getting into his fur coat. "One never
knows. But going down a dark court to see criminals--"
"Do you think they are criminals?" asked his brother.
Rupert laughed stoutly. "Giving orders to a subordinate to strangle
a harmless stranger in a coal-cellar may strike you as a very
blameless experiment, but--"
"Do you think they wanted to strangle the Major?" asked Basil, in
the same distant and monotonous voice.
"My dear fellow, you've been asleep. Look at the letter."
"I am looking at the letter," said the mad judge calmly; though, as
a matter of fact, he was looking at the fire.
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