and very faintly below D.S.O.
I guessed the name in an instant flash of intuition. It was
Shaphambury. The very gaps shaped that to my mind. Perhaps in a sort of
semi-visibility other letters were there, at least hinting themselves.
It was a place somewhere on the east coast, I knew, either in Norfolk
or Suffolk.
“Why!” cried I—and stopped.
What was the good of telling him?
Old Stuart had glanced up sharply, I am inclined to think almost
fearfully, into my face. “You—you haven’t got it?” he said.
Shaphambury—I should remember that.
“You don’t think you got it?” he said.