The cracks in the wall were
scarcely wide enough to be dangerous, yet she took the precaution of
shrinking back into the darkest corner before opening her hand-bag and
extracting the letter. It bore a typewritten address, with no
suspicious characteristics about the envelope, the return card
(typewritten also) being the home address of Farriss.
Farriss's letter contained nothing of interest except the fact that
Enright had also left for the West. He instructed her to be on the
lookout for him in Haskell, added a line or two of suggestions, and
ordered her to proceed with caution, as her quest might prove to be a
dangerous one.
Miss Donovan tore the letter into small bits, wrapping the fragments in
a handkerchief until she could throw them safely away. For some time
she stood motionless at the window, looking out, but seeing nothing,
her mind busy with the problem. She thought rapidly and clearly, more
than ordinarily eager to solve this mystery. She was a newspaperwoman,
and the strange story in which she was involved appealed to her
imagination, yet its appeal was far more effective in a purely personal
way.
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