CHAPTER XXII THE HIGHLY-RESPECTABLE SOLICITORLord Morradale, who kept up honest, country-squire habits even in London, had gone to bed when Hetherwick and Mapperley arrived at his house, but he lost little time in making an appearance, in pyjamas and dressing-gown, and listened eagerly to Hetherwick's account of the recent transactions.
"Force!" he muttered, nodding his head at each point of the story. "Force! got it out of her by force. That is, if the order's genuine."
Mapperley produced the sheet of paper, which he had filched under the caretaker's eyes, and silently handed it over.
"Oh, that's Madame Listorelle's handwriting!" exclaimed Lord Morradale. "Hers, without doubt. Difficult to imitate, of course. Oh, yes—hers! Well, that proves what I've just said, Mr. Hetherwick—force! Sh
