book. One thing at least was certain, and that was if Baxter were the sender there was something underhand going on. If he were not, well, then there could be no possible harm in my keeping the form as a little souvenir of a very curious experience.
I wrote my own message, and having paid for it, left the office. But I was not destined to enjoy the society of my own thoughts for long. Hardly had I reached the Invalids' Walk before I felt my arm touched. To my supreme astonishment I found myself again confronted by Mr. Baxter. He was now perfectly calm and greeted me with extraordinary civility.
"Mr. Hatteras, I believe," he said. "I think I had the pleasure of meeting you on the sands a few days ago. What a beautiful day it is, isn't it? Are you proceeding this way? Yes? Then perhaps I may be permitted the honour of walking a little way with you."
"With pleasure," I replied, "I am going up the cliff to my hotel, I shall be glad of your company. I think we met in the telegraph office just now."
"In the post office, I think. I had occasion to go in there to register a letter."
His speech struck me as remarkable. My observation was so trivial that it hardly needed an answer, and yet not only did he vouchsafe me one, but he corrected my statement and volunteered a further one on his own account. What reason could he have for wanting to make me understand that he had gone in there to post a letter? What would it have mattered to me if he had been there, as I suggested, to send a telegram?
"Mr. Baxter," I thought to myself, "I've got a sort of conviction that you're not the man you pretend to be, and what's more I'd like to bet a shilling to a halfpenny
