I shudder when I think of Miss Darrow’s narrow escape. Did you suspect who her assailant really was? I wonder you have written me nothing about it, but suppose you thought it would only needlessly alarm me. If you had known it was our friend Ragobah, you would doubtless have felt it imperative that I should know of it,—so I conclude from your silence that you did not discover his identity.
I need not, of course, tell you, my dear Doctor, that
we have reached the end of our Indian clue, and that
I deem it wise, all things considered, for me to get
out of India just as soon as possible. If this
letter is in any way delayed, you need not be surprised
if I have the pleasure of relating its contents in
person. Remember me to Miss Darrow and tell her
how sorry I am that, thus far, I have been unable
to be of any real service to her. As I shall
see you so soon I need write nothing further.
Kind regards to Miss Alice.
When I had finished reading this letter I looked up at Gwen, expecting to see that its news had depressed her. I must confess, however, that I could not detect any such effect. On the contrary, she seemed to be in much better spirits than when I began reading. “According to this letter, then,” she said, addressing me somewhat excitedly, “we may—” but she let fall her eyes and did not complete her sentence. My sister bestowed upon her one of those glances described in the vernacular of woman as “knowing” and then said to me: “We may expect Mr. Maitland at any time, it seems.” “Yes,” I replied; “he will lose no time in getting here. He undoubtedly feels much chagrined at his failure and will now be more than ever determined to see the affair through to a successful conclusion. He is in the position of a hound that has lost its scent,