The enclosure he opened: 

“Phil, dear, though I have been very ill I know you are my own husband.  All the rest was only a child’s dream of terror—­”

And that was all—­only this scrap, firmly written in the easy flowing hand he knew so well.  He studied it for a moment or two, then resumed Miss Casson’s letter: 

“A man stopped our sleigh yesterday, asking if he was not speaking to Mrs. Ruthven.  I was a trifle worried, and replied that any communication for Mrs. Ruthven could be sent to me.

“That evening two men—­gentlemen apparently—­came to the house and asked for me.  I went down to receive them.  One was a Dr. Mallison, the other said his name was Thomas B. Hallam, but gave no business address.

“When I found that they had come without your knowledge and authority, I refused to discuss Mrs. Ruthven’s condition, and the one who said his name was Hallam spoke rather peremptorily and in a way that made me think he might be a lawyer.

“They got nothing out of me, and they left when I made it plain that I had nothing to tell them.

“I thought it best to let you know about this, though I, personally, cannot guess what it might mean.”

Selwyn turned the page: 

“One other matter worries Miss Bond and myself.  The revolver you sent us at my request has disappeared.  We are nearly sure Mrs. Ruthven has it—­you know she once dressed it as a doll—­calling it her army doll!—­but now we can’t find it.  She has hidden it somewhere, out of doors in the shrubbery, we think, and Miss Bond and I expect to secure it the next time she takes a fancy to have all her dolls out for a ‘lawn-party.’

“Dr. Wesson says there is no danger of her doing any harm with it, but wants us to secure it at the first opportunity—­”

He turned the last page; on the other side was merely the formula of leave-taking and Miss Casson’s signature.

For a while he stood in the centre of the room, head bent, narrowing eyes fixed; then he folded the letter, pocketed it, and walked to the table where a directory lay.

He found the name, Hallam, very easily—­Thomas B. Hallam, lawyer, junior in the firm of Spencer, Boyd & Hallam.  They were attorneys for Jack Ruthven; he knew that.

Mallison he also found—­Dr. James Mallison, who, it appeared, conducted some sort of private asylum on Long Island.

And when he had found what he wanted, he went to the telephone and rang up Mr. Ruthven, but the servant who answered the telephone informed him that Mr. Ruthven was not in town.

So Selwyn hung up the receiver and sat down, thoughtful, grim, the trace of a scowl creeping across his narrowing gray eyes.

Of the abject cowardice of Ruthven he had been so certain that he had hitherto discounted any interference from him.  Yet, now, the man was apparently preparing for some sort of interference.  What did he want?  Selwyn had contemptuously refused to permit him to seek a divorce on the ground of his wife’s infirmity.  What was the man after?