nothing to do, and the Lockes out in the
China Sea, bound for the "States."

"But why shouldn't they go?" thought Trask. The fact that he was
secretly in love with Marjorie Locke, and had allowed himself to
believe that she rather liked him, was no reason why she should
wait in Manila merely because he had told her that he expected to
be in that city on a certain date.

"Oh, that reminds me!" said Wilkins suddenly, as he ran in behind
the railing again. "Look here! I've a letter for you. Been here a
couple of days, never struck me at the time it was you, never
dawned on me until I saw you at the desk, then I remembered your
name."

"Mail for me?" asked Trask. "Why, nobody knows I'm in Manila. I'm
supposed to be up in Korea."

"Not mail, precisely, sir. It was left here a few days ago."

"Who left it?" Trask was suddenly hopeful.

"Can't say, sir. I found it on the desk. Rather mysterious, you
know. I'd say it was----" He paused, to rifle the letter-rack.

"Was what?"

"If you don't mind, sir, I'd say it was queer, rather extraordinary
circumstance. Now where could I have put it?"

"How was it queer? Don't keep me on the grid. What about it?"

"The fact is," said Wilkins, "I'd consider it a bit irregular. The
backing was done with a typewriter, but the paper--I'd say the
envelope was business, but not house stationary. It struck me that
way, if you don't mind my saying it. Quite involuntary on my part,
but natural, sir, considering the name looked familiar. Of course,
I never remembered you in connection with Colombo until I'd seen
your face----"

"Certainly, certainly," said Trask, impatiently.

"Stupid of me not to think of it before," went on Wilkins,
musingly. "We hotel men get to notice things, and I shouldn't like
to be so slow as a usual thing with---- Ah, here it is! Got in
among the steamer guides."

Trask reached across for the letter. It was a large, square
envelope of a bulky woven paper. On it was typed in purple:

_Mr. Robert Trask. Consolidated Mines Syndicate.
To be called for._

The letters of the words were topped by a faint and blurry purple
line, showing that the heavy envelope had undergone troubles by
being rolled into a typewriter.

"Excuse me," said Trask. He tore it open just as the bar-boy
appeared with a tray decorated with stone ginger jars and glasses.
The letter read:

DEAR MR. TRASK:

Thank you so much for the flowers you sent me at the King