Samuel Buzza sat by the Club
window, alternately skimming his morning paper and sipping his
morning draught. He was alone, for the habit of early rising was
fast following the other virtues of antique Troy, and the members
rarely mustered in force before eleven.
He had read all the murders and sporting intelligence, and was about
to glance at the affairs of Europe, when Mrs. Cripps, the caretaker,
entered in a hurry and a clean white apron.
"If you please, sir, there's Seth Udy's little boy below with a note
for you. I'd have brought it up, but he says he must give it
hisself."
Sam, descending with some wonder, encountered Mr. Moggridge in the
passage. The rivals drew aside to let each other pass. On the
doorstep stood a ragged urchin, and waved a letter.
"For you, sir; an' plaise you'm to tell me 'yes' or 'no,' so quick as
possible."
Sam took the letter, glanced at the neat, feminine handwriting of the
address, and tore open the envelope.
"Dear Mr. Buzza,
If you care to remember what was spoken the other evening, you
will to-night help a _most unhappy woman_. You will go to the
captain's cabin of the Wreck which we visited together, and find
there _a small portmanteau_. It may be carried in the hand, and
holds the few necessaries I have hidden for my flight, but
please carry it carefully.
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