"Davis, Richard Harding - The Lost House" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davis Richard Harding)

I thought it was for the Ambassador!" said the Secretary.

The soiled person coughed deprecatingly, and pointed a dirty digit
at the paper. "On the inside," he suggested. The paper was wrapped
around a half-crown and folded in at each end. The diplomat opened
it hesitatingly, but having read what was written, laughed.

"There's nothing in THAT," he exclaimed. He passed the note to
Ford. The reporter fell upon it eagerly.

The note was written in pencil on an unruled piece of white paper.
The handwriting was that of a woman. What Ford read was:

"I am a prisoner in the street on which this paper is found. The
house faces east. I think I am on the top story. I was brought here
three weeks ago. They are trying to kill me. My uncle, Charles
Ralph Pearsall, is doing this to get my money. He is at Gerridge's
Hotel in Craven Street, Strand. He will tell you I am insane. My
name is Dosia Pearsall Dale. My home is at Dalesville, Kentucky, U.
S. A. Everybody knows me there, and knows I am not insane. If you
would save a life take this at once to the American Embassy, or to
Scotland Yard. For God's sake, help me."

When he had read the note, Ford continue to study it. Until he was
quite sure his voice would not betray his interest, he did not
raise his eyes.

"Why," he asked, "did you say that there's nothing in this?"

"Because," returned the diplomat conclusively, "we got a note like
that, or nearly like it, a week ago, and----"

Ford could not restrain a groan. "And you never told me!"

"There wasn't anything to tell," protested the diplomat. "We handed
it over to the police, and they reported there was nothing in it.
They couldn't find the man at that hotel, and, of course, they
couldn't find the house with no more to go on than----"

"And so," exclaimed Ford rudely, "they decided there was no man,
and no house!"

"Their theory," continued the Secretary patiently, "is that the
girl is confined in one of the numerous private sanatoriums in
Sowell Street, that she is insane, that because she's under
restraint she IMAGINES the nurses are trying to kill her and that
her relatives are after her money. Insane people are always
thinking that. It's a very common delusion."

Ford's eyes were shining with a wicked joy. "So," he asked