‘I knew it!’ ejaculated Mr Maggleby. ‘I have just received the letter
that he speaks of.’
‘What does it all mean?’ asked Mr Doddard. ‘I seem to be dreaming, sir.
We buried poor Mr Pudster eight months ago, didn’t we?’
‘So I thought,’ murmured Mr Maggleby vaguely. ‘But this letter is
certainly in his handwriting. And look at the post-mark. There it is,
as plain as possible: “Plymouth, Mar. 22, 1868.” That was yesterday;
and to-day is Wednesday, March 23d.—Just read my letter, Mr Doddard!’
and he pulled from his pocket a missive, which he handed to his clerk.
Mr Doddard read as follows:
_On board S.S. Camel, off Plymouth, Tuesday._
MY DEAR GIDEON—Here I am almost at home again. I fancy that you
didn’t expect to see me just at present; for I wasn’t able to
write to you before we left Demerara; so, as we are now sending
ashore here, I post you a few lines to prepare you for the
surprise. It is, as you know, quite unusual for vessels of this
line to call at Plymouth, and therefore I haven’t time to send
you a long letter; though, if we also call at Southampton, I
will write again from there. I have told Doddard to send some
one to meet me at Gravesend; let him take down any letters that
you may want me to see at once.—Yours affectionately,