“Written,” said old Bittlesham, “in an uneducated hand and couched in terms of uncompromising menace. Mr. Wooster, do you recall a sinister, bearded man who assailed me in no measured terms in Hyde Park last Sunday?”

I jumped, and shot a look at young Bingo. The only expression on his face was one of grave, kindly concern.

“Why⁠—ah⁠—yes,” I said. “Bearded man. Chap with a beard.”

“Could you identify him, if necessary?”

“Well, I⁠—er⁠—how do you mean?”