Scarcely had Steele taken the note in his hands when a quick thrill passed through him.

Before he had read the first line he was conscious again of that haunting sweetness in the air he breathed--the perfume of hyacinth.

There was not only this perfume, but the same paper, the same delicately pretty writing of the letter he had burned more than a week before.

He made no effort to suppress the exclamation of astonishment that broke from his lips.

Breed was staring at him when he lifted his eyes.
"This is a mighty strange coincidence, Breed," he said, regaining his composure.