"Your chauffeur gave it to the hall porter a moment ago, sir." "Thank you," said Jimmie Dale again.
The door closed.
Jimmie Dale glanced around the room.

It was the caution of habit, that glance; the habit of years in which his life had hung on little things.
He was alone in one of the club's private library rooms.

He picked up the envelope, tore it open, took out the folded sheets inside, and began to read.

At the first words he leaned forward, suddenly tense in his chair.

He read on, turning the pages hurriedly, incredulity, amazement, and, finally, a strange menace mirroring itself in turn upon his face.
He stood up--the letter in his hand.
"My God!" whispered Jimmie Dale.
It was a call to arms such as the Gray Seal had never received before--such as the Tocsin had never made before.