independence, on the other. When I had told him that my name was Roylake,
he searched one of the large pockets of his shooting jacket, produced a
letter, and silently offered it to me.

Before I took the letter--seeing that he was a stranger, and that he
mentioned no name known to me--I thought it desirable to make some
inquiry.

"Is it a letter of your own writing?" I asked.

"No, sir."

"Who sends you with it?"

He was apparently a man of few words. "My master," was the guarded answer
that this odd servant returned.

I became as inquisitive as old Toller himself.

"Who is your master?" I went on.

The reply staggered me. Speaking as quietly and respectfully as ever, he
said: "I can't tell you, sir."

"Do you mean that you are forbidden to tell me?"

"No, sir."

"Then what do you mean?"