He pointed to a table at the other end of the room, on which writing materials were placed.  “I hate moving the moment I have had my breakfast,” he said.  “We won’t go into the library.  Bring me the pen and ink here.”

“Are you going to write to Miss Silvester?”

“That is the question before us which we have not settled yet.  Before I decide, I want to be in possession of the facts—­down to the smallest detail of what took place between you and Miss Silvester at the inn.  There is only one way of getting at those facts.  I am going to examine you as if I had you before me in the witness-box in court.”

With that preface, and with Arnold’s letter from Baden in his hand as a brief to speak from, Sir Patrick put his questions in clear and endless succession; and Arnold patiently and faithfully answered them all.

The examination proceeded uninterruptedly until it had reached that point in the progress of events at which Anne had crushed Geoffrey Delamayn’s letter in her hand, and had thrown it from her indignantly to the other end of the room.  There, for the first time, Sir Patrick dipped his pen in the ink, apparently intending to take a note.  “Be very careful here,” he said; “I want to know every thing that you can tell me about that letter.”

“The letter is lost,” said Arnold.

“The letter has been stolen by Bishopriggs,” returned Sir Patrick, “and is in the possession of Bishopriggs at this moment.”

“Why, you know more about it than I do!” exclaimed Arnold.

“I sincerely hope not.  I don’t know what was inside the letter.  Do you?”

“Yes.  Part of it at least.”

“Part of it?”

“There were two letters written, on the same sheet of paper,” said Arnold.  “One of them was written by Geoffrey Delamayn—­and that is the one I know about.”

Sir Patrick started.  His face brightened; he made a hasty note.  “Go on,” he said, eagerly.  “How came the letters to be written on the same sheet?  Explain that!”

Arnold explained that Geoffrey, in the absence of any thing else to write his excuses on to Anne, had written to her on the fourth or blank page of a letter which had been addressed to him by Anne herself.

“Did you read that letter?” asked Sir Patrick.

“I might have read it if I had liked.”

“And you didn’t read it?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Out of delicacy.”

Even Sir Patrick’s carefully trained temper was not proof against this.  “That is the most misplaced act of delicacy I ever heard of in my life!” cried the old gentleman, warmly.  “Never mind! it’s useless to regret it now.  At any rate, you read Delamayn’s answer to Miss Silvester’s letter?”

“Yes—­I did.”

“Repeat it—­as nearly as you can remember at this distance of time.”

“It was so short,” said Arnold, “that there is hardly any thing to repeat.  As well as I remember, Geoffrey said he was called away to London by his father’s illness.  He told Miss Silvester to stop where she was; and he referred her to me, as messenger.  That’s all I recollect of it now.”