"But this isn't to be opened till you're dead!" he exclaimed. "Open it now," said Godfrey roughly, "I only put that in case I met with an accident--you'll see why I did it, in a moment." With a queer feeling of misgiving Oliver Tropenell drew the common little sheet of notepaper out of the envelope, and in silence read over what was written there in those deceitful, printed characters. He read it once, twice--thrice. Then he handed the sheet of paper back, with a look of disgust and contempt on his dark face, to the man standing by his side. "Well!" he exclaimed. "I don't know what you expect me to say? If you'd had as many anonymous letters as I've had in my time--they rain in Mexico--you wouldn't give much thought to this kind of garbage!" Holding out the letter as if it were something dirty, he handed it back to the other man. "I haven't given much thought to it----" and then Godfrey stopped short. He felt as if some other man, and not his sober self, were uttering the lie. "No," said Oliver quickly, "I don't suppose you have. But still, I can't help being rather sorry you kept it, and--and that you showed it to me. There's nothing to be done! I suppose it's the work of some clerk whom you've dismissed in the last few weeks?" "I've dismissed no one," said Pavely shortly. Somehow Tropenell was not taking this disagreeable business quite as he had meant him to take it. In a rather different voice Oliver went on: "Show me the letter again. I want to see if there's a date to it." "It arrived exactly three weeks ago to-day," said Pavely slowly, "and it was posted in Pewsbury." Light broke in on Tropenell. This, then, was why Godfrey had taken to coming home at such odd hours, and why he had telephoned several times from the Bank, sending messages to Laura, and, on at least one occasion, a message to Tropenell himself! He set his lips tightly together, and a flood of bitter wrath welled up from his heart. "Then in my place you would do nothing?" asked Godfrey uncertainly. More and more he was disappointed in the other's attitude. He had thought Oliver would suggest something which might be useful, or at any rate laugh the matter off. But Oliver only looked grim--grim and angry. "I don't see that you can do anything. It isn't the sort of thing about which you would care to go to the local police, and even if you knew who wrote that infamous scrawl I don't see how you could take action. We can't have Laura's name dragged into this kind of business." Then he asked in a lower voice, "Have you said anything to her?" The other shook his head. "I've no intention of saying anything to Laura. It would distress and disgust her very much." He was glad to see that Oliver, hearing these words, looked very much relieved.