The men stared into each other's face.
"It's singular, that's all," pursued Gregson. "Those words are
important. The writer expects that they will reach Lord Fitzhugh
immediately, and as soon as he gets them you can look for war.
Isn't that their significance? I repeat that it is singular this
girl should come here so mysteriously, and disappear still more
so, just at this psychological moment; and it is still more
puzzling when you take into consideration the fact that two hours
before the runner came in from the south another person inquired
for Lord Fitzhugh's mail!"
Philip started.
"And they told you this?"
"Yes. It was a man who asked--a stranger. He gave no name and left
no word. Now, if it should happen to be the man who was with the
girl when I saw her--and we can find him--we've as good as got
this Lord Fitzhugh. If we don't find him--and mighty soon--it's up
to us to start for your camps and put them into fighting shape.
See the point?"
"But we've got the letter," said Philip. "Fitzhugh won't receive
the final word, and that will delay whatever plot he has ready to
spring."
"My dear Phil," said Gregson, softly. "I always said that you were
the fighter and I the diplomat, yours the brawn and mine the
brain.
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