“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
and climbed down the ladder. Graeme’s porthole showed a yellow circle through the fog and he turned the handle of his door and opened it without knocking. Cosmo was sitting on the bunk—writing a letter. His face was ashen. He nodded, finished writing, licked the envelope, and sealing it, wrote an address. Then he handed it to Micky.
“I say, old chap, mail this for me?” he said “I may n’t get a chance. This is my last night of freedom, I fancy.”
“Freedom—fiddlesticks!” retorted Mickv. “I ’ll have you safe on shore before midnight—if you don’t mind swimming in water that ’s a trifie cold.
Graeme shook his head.
“I don’t mind cold water, but they ’ll have me under arrest before we ’re within reach of land. By the way, here ’s a thrippence for the stamp.”
Micky took the three-penny bit and the letter.
The Hon, Evelyn Arabella Farquhar,
Toppingham Manor,
Toppingham,
Old Stottesbury, Hants.
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