There, beside Pollard's chair, was his waste paper basket, filled to
overflowing with crumpled papers. And, thrusting upward through the
papers, catching her eye because the papers were white and it was
another colour, was a long, yellow envelope. An envelope exactly like
the one in which Mr. Templeton had put the bank notes she was to carry
to her uncle!
Obeying her swift impulse she stepped to the basket and drew the
envelope out. It was not only like the one she knew, yellow and cloth
lined, but it was the same one! She knew that beyond a hint of doubt.
For she remembered how, while sealing the thing for her, Mr. Templeton
had laid it down on his table, upon his ink-wet pen, how he had
carelessly blotted it. And here was the blot!
She came swiftly around the table. Her back was toward the open door.
And....
Henry Pollard was standing behind her, watching her! She did not see
him, she could not be sure that she had heard his soft step on the hall
carpet, but she knew that he was there. She seemed to sense his presence
with the subtle sixth sense.
CHAPTER XXIII
WARNING
She felt her heart beating wildly ... if at that second he had spoken to
her she could not have found immediate voice in answer were it to save
her life.
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