“For Lord Lydstone?”

“For his lordship.  He seemed much disturbed on reading it.”

“Well?”

“My lord called me and said he would dress to go on shore.  I gave him out the suit which he was wearing when the body was found.”

“He said nothing about the letter, or its contents?”

“Oh, no!  My lord was never given to talking much, although I was his confidential valet since he left college.  He never spoke to me of his affairs.  My lord always kept his distance, as it was proper he should.”

“Could you tell at all what became of this letter?”

“My lord put it in his pocket when he was dressed.”

“You are certain of this?”

“Most positive.”

“Was any such letter found in the pockets of the deceased?” asked the attache of the Turkish police, through the dragoman of the Embassy.

Nothing of the kind had been found.

“The letter was no doubt removed purposely.  This would destroy all trace of its origin.  It was evidently a snare, a bait to lure the poor lord on shore,” said one attache to another.

“It is curious that he should have been so ready to swallow it.”

“There must have been something peculiarly persuasive in the letter.”

“But we have heard that he was much distressed, or annoyed, at receiving it.”

“Persuasive in a good or bad sense—­probably the latter.  At any rate, it was sufficient to lure him on shore.”

“Of course there is something beneath all this:  some intrigue, perhaps.”

“The old story, ‘who is she?’ I suppose.”

“But I thought he was devoted to his cousin, the fair Mrs. Wilders.”

“Is she still in Constantinople?”

“Yes, I think so.  Still at Misseri’s, I believe.”

“I wonder whether she has yet heard about this horrible affair.  Some one ought to break it to her.”

But no one was needed for a task from which all shrank, with not unnatural hesitation.  While they still talked, a message was brought in to the effect that Mrs. Wilders was in the antechamber, and her first words, when one of the attaches joined her, plainly showed that she had heard of Lord Lydstone’s death.

“What a horrible, frightful business!” she said, in a voice broken with emotion.  “Oh! this wicked, accursed town!  How did it happen?  Do tell me all you know.”

“We are completely in the dark.  We know nothing more than that Lord Lydstone was found stabbed at daylight this morning in the streets of Stamboul.”

“What could have taken him there?”

The attache shrugged his shoulders.

“There is nothing to show, except that he was inveigled by some mysterious communication—­a letter sent on board the yacht.”

“Inveigled for some base purpose—­robbery, perhaps?”

“Very probably.  When the body was found, it had been rifled of everything—­watch, money, rings:  everything had gone.”