She drew back in alarm, yet
immediately grasped the thought that this must be some secret message,
some communication from Westcott.
Drawing down the torn curtain, she touched a match to the lamp and
sought the intruding missile. It had rolled beneath the bed--a small
stone with a bit of paper securely attached. The girl tore this open
eagerly, her eyes searching the few lines:
Must see you to-night. Have learned things, and am going away. Go
down back stairs, and meet me at big cottonwood behind hotel; don't
fail.
J. W.
Her breath came fast as she read, and crunched the paper into the palm
of her hand. She understood, and felt no hesitancy. Westcott had made
discoveries so important he must communicate them at once and there was
no other way. He dare not come to her openly at that hour. Well, she
was not afraid--not of Jim Westcott. Even in her hurry she was dimly
conscious of the utter, complete confidence she felt in the man; even
of the strange interest he had inspired. She paused in her hasty
dressing, wondering at herself, dimly aware that a new feeling partly
actuated her desire to meet the man again--a feeling thoroughly alien
to the Cavendish mystery.
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