"
"My friend had injured his left hand," pursued Thorndyke.
"I dunno about that," said the youth. "Mr. Barlow nearly always wears
gloves; he always wears one on his left hand, anyhow."
"Ah well! I'll just write him a note on the chance, if you will give me
a piece of notepaper. Have you any ink?"
"There's some in the bottle. I'll dip the pen in for you."
He produced, from the cupboard, an opened packet of cheap notepaper and
a packet of similar envelopes, and, having dipped the pen to the bottom
of the ink-bottle, handed it to Thorndyke, who sat down and hastily
scribbled a short note. He had folded the paper, and was about to
address the envelope, when he appeared suddenly to alter his mind.
"I don't think I will leave it, after all," he said, slipping the folded
paper into his pocket. "No. Tell him I called--Mr. Horace Budge--and say
I will look in again in a day or two."
The youth watched our exit with an air of perplexity, and he even came
out on to the landing, the better to observe us over the balusters;
until, unexpectedly catching Thorndyke's eye, he withdrew his head with
remarkable suddenness, and retired in disorder.
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