"Did you receive this telegram a few minutes ago!" he inquired.

The young man became severely official.

"Which telegram?" he said stiffly.

"This one," and Siddle gave him the written message.

"Yes," was the answer.

"Excuse me, but--er--are its contents known to you only?"

"What do you mean, sir? It would cost me my berth if I divulged a word of
it to anyone."

"I'm sorry. Pray don't take offense. I--I'm anxious that my friends,
Mr. and Miss Martin, should not hear of it. That is what I really
have in mind."

The telegraphist cooled down.

"You may be quite sure that neither they nor any other person in
Steynholme will ever see the duplicate," he said confidentially. "I make
up a package containing duplicates each evening, and it is sent to
headquarters. If it will please you, I'll lock the copy now in my desk."

"That is exceedingly good of you," said Siddle gratefully. "You, as a
Londoner, will understand that such a telegram from--er--Horton is not
the sort of thing one would like to become known even in the most
limited circle."