The
"Universal Diary" (for the year before) was there, sure enough. And it
was attached to a pink blotter precisely similar to that upon which Mr.
Crofts still drummed with idle fingers.
"Anything more I can show you?" inquired that worthy, humorously.
Langholm was gazing intently, not at the diary, but at the pink
blotting-paper. Suddenly he looked up.
"You say that was the last letter he ever wrote in your office?"
"The very last."
"Then--yes--you can show me a looking-glass if you have one!"
Crofts had a small one on his chimney-piece.
"By the Lord Harry," said he, handing it, "but you tip-top 'tecs are a
leery lot!"
CHAPTER XXIV
ONE WHO WAS NOT BIDDEN
Langholm went north next morning by the ten o'clock express from King's
Cross. He had been but four nights in town, and not four days, yet to
Langholm they might have been weeks, for he had never felt so much and
slept so little in all his life. He had also done a good deal; but it is
the moments of keen sensation that make up the really crowded hours, and
Langholm was to run the gamut of his emotions before this memorable week
was out. In psychological experience it was to be, for him, a little
lifetime in itself; indeed, the week seemed that already, while it was
still young, and comparatively poor in incident and surprise.
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