John Armitage; but you
don't know why."
"I have my orders and I'm going to find him, if it takes ten years."
Shirley nodded and clasped her fingers together. Her elbows resting on
the high arms of her chair caused her cloak to flow sweepingly away from
her shoulders. At the end of the room, with his back to the portieres,
stood Oscar, immovable. Claiborne reexamined the message, and extended it
again to Shirley.
"There's no doubt of that being Chauvenet's writing, is there?"
"I think not, Dick. I have had notes from him now and then in that hand.
He has taken pains to write this with unusual distinctness."
The color brightened in her cheeks suddenly as she looked toward Oscar.
The curtains behind him swayed, but so did the curtain back of her. A
May-time languor had crept into the heart of April, and all the windows
were open. The blurred murmurs of insects stole into the house. Oscar,
half-forgotten by his captor, heard a sound in the window behind him and
a hand touched him through the curtain.
Claiborne crumpled the paper impatiently.
"Shirley, you are against me! I believe you have seen Armitage here, and
I want you to tell me what you know of him.
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