The Man Called Gilray by Fred M. White

Temple gazed at the letter in utter bewilderment. It seemed almost impossible to believe that the thing was true. Surely somebody had been playing a joke on him. But there was nobody who knew the inside facts well enough to do anything of the kind. No, the note was genuine enough, and in any case Phil was too familiar with Lady Silverdale's handwriting to be deceived. No forger could successfully have imitated writing of that kind, dashed off in a hurry as it was. Besides, the gum on the envelope was hardly dry. There it was as plain as anything could be that the police held a warrant for the arrest of Lord Silverdale for the wilful murder of John Gilray.

In all his wildest dreams, Phil could never have connected these two men with one another. They seemed to be as wide apart as the poles. They were the last two men in the whole of London likely to come in contact.