They had assigned me my room, and I was about to take the lift and
inspect, when I heard the porter say to himself, "_Tiens, c'est
drole, maintenant_." He had the bundle of cleared letters in his hand
and held out one. It was addressed to me in Jack's handwriting.
I pounced for it. "_C'est a moi--Ceci s'expliquera, sans doute_."
The porter hesitated. "_Une lettre timbree--c'est contre les regies,
sinon contre la loi . . . mais puisque c'est pour monsieur,
apparement_--"
A ten-franc piece did the rest. I took the letter up to my chamber
where I opened it and read--
[FOE to OTWAY]
"Grand Hotel, Biarritz.
"Dear Roddy,--I am obliged to you by receipt of your silly
lawyer's letter enclosing 100 pounds; though what kind of
salve it can spread on your conscience to commission a fellow
called Norgate to do what you won't do at first hand I fail to
perceive. However, have it your own way. I have an enemy who,
with a little training, won't give me time to worry about my
friends.
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