Evidently he considered the matter a huge joke, but Westcott snatched
the paper from his fingers impatiently and eagerly read the few hastily
pencilled lines:
Have received a message calling me East at once. Shall take the night
train, and enclose sufficient money to pay for my entertainment.
S. D.
He stared at the words, a deep crease between his eyes. It was a
woman's handwriting, and at first glance there was nothing impossible
in such an action on her part. Yet it was strange, if she had departed
so suddenly, without leaving any message for him. After that meeting
at the bridge, and the understanding between them, it didn't seem to
Westcott at all probable that she would thus desert without some
plausible explanation. His eyes narrowed with aroused suspicion as he
looked up from the slip of paper and confronted the amused Timmons
across the desk.
"I'll keep this," he said soberly, folding it and thrusting it into his
pocket.
"All right"--and Timmons smiled blandly--"I got the money."
"And that was all, was it--just this note and the cash? There was
nothing addressed to me?"
The hotel-keeper shook his head.
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