Fenwick is going to spend the winter, but get an exact history of the
house. So far as I can see we might finish our dinner and go off to a
theatre. We are not likely to hear any more to-night, and all this
mystery and worry is beginning to get on my nerves. What do you say to
an hour or two at the Gaiety?"

Venner pleaded for a few moments' delay. So far as he was personally
concerned he felt very unlike the frivolity of the typical musical
comedy; but still, he had finished his dinner by this time and was not
disposed to be churlish. Fenwick had completed his repast also, and was
sipping his coffee in an amiable frame of mind, heedless apparently of
business worries of all kinds.

At the same moment a waiter came into the room and advanced to the
millionaire's table with a small parcel in his hand.

"A letter for you, sir. An express letter which has just arrived. Will
you be good enough to sign the receipt?"

"Confound the people," Fenwick growled. "Can't you leave me alone for
half an hour when I am having my dinner? Take the thing up to my room.
You sign it, Vera."

"I'll sign it, of course," Vera replied. "But don't you think you had
better open the parcel? It may be of some importance. People don't
usually send express letters at this time of night unless they are
urgent. Or, shall I open it for you?"

The waiter had gone by this time, taking the receipt for the letter with
him. With a gesture Fenwick signified to Vera that she might open the