As she vainly asked herself this question, a boy came along one of the paths. He was a small child, about nine years of age, evidently attired in his Sunday best. He carried something in his hand. Coming up to her, he said,-- 'Are you Miss Broad?' She nodded; she could not speak. 'I was told to give you this.' He handed her the envelope. She jumped to the conclusion that it came from him. Her delight at receiving even a message from him about scattered her few remaining senses. 'I'll give you sixpence.' She spoke with a stammer, fumbling with her purse. 'I haven't one; I'll give you half-a-crown instead.' The boy went off mumbling what might have been meant for thanks, probably too surprised at the magnitude of the gift to be able to make his meaning clear. She tore the envelope open. It contained half a sheet of paper, on which were the words,-- 'If you want Mr Guy Holland, inquire of Miss May Bewicke.' CHAPTER XI THE PURSUIT OF THE GENTLEMAN That was all. Miss Broad's first blundering impression was that somebody was having a joke with her--that she was mistaken, had read the words askew. She looked again. No; the error, if error there were, was, to that extent, certainly not hers; the words were there as plain as plain could be, and they only. 'If you want Mr Guy Holland, inquire of Miss May Bewicke.' They were typewritten, occupying a couple of lines. The rest of the sheet was blank--no address, no date, no signature; not a hint to show from whom the message could have come. She looked at the envelope. The face of it was blank; there was nothing on it, inside or out. Where was the boy who had brought it? She turned to see. He had gone, was out of sight. So far as she could perceive, she had the immediate neighbourhood entirely to herself. What did it mean? The disappointment was so acute that, as she sank back upon the seat, the earth seemed to be whirling round in front of her. She never quite knew whether for a second or two she did not lose her senses altogether. When next she began to notice things, she perceived that the envelope had fallen to the ground, and that the half sheet of paper would probably have followed it had it not been detained by a fold in her dress. She examined them both again, this time more closely, without, however, any satisfactory result. Of the typewritten words she could make neither head nor tail. Were they meant as a hint--a warning--what? Anyhow, from whom could they have come--to her, there, in the Park? Why had she not asked the boy who had instructed him to give the envelope to her? What a simpleton she had been! '"Inquire of Miss May Bewicke." What can it mean? "Inquire of Miss May Bewicke." Unless--' Unless it meant something she did not care to think of. She left the sentence unfinished, even in her own mind.