The words, written in a fine educated hand,--evidently a woman's,--were:
"Come to Springfield Lodge, St. Margaret's Road, Regent's Park, to-night
at nine. Important."
I confess the communication puzzled me, for I knew no one living at the
address, and the handwriting was unfamiliar. Nevertheless, I resolved
to obey the summons.
With some little difficulty I found the house. It stood back from the
road, concealed behind a high wall. The thoroughfare was very quiet and
eminently respectable. Each house stood in its own grounds, and had an
air of wealth and prosperity about it, while the bare black branches of
the great trees on either side of the road met overhead, forming a long
avenue.
I gave the summons used at Grigorovitch's, namely, four distinct tugs at
the bell; and presently the heavy door was opened by a Russian
maid-servant.
"Who are you?" she demanded in broken English.