She's married."
The eyes of Westcott and Miss Donovan met. Here was a bit of strange
news--the La Rue woman married, and to a man with a long name beginning
with C. The same thought occurred to them both, yet it was evidently
useless to question Timmons any longer. He would know nothing, and
comprehend less. The girl looked tired, completely worn out, and the
affair could rest until morning.
"Take Miss Donovan to a room," Westcott said shortly, "and I'll run
up-stairs and have another look at Cavendish."
"At who?"
"Cavendish, the wounded man we just carried in."
"Well, that's blamed funny. Say, I don't remember ever hearin' that
name before in all my life till just now. Come ter think of it, I
believe that was the name in that La Rue girl's letter. I got it yere
in the desk; it's torn some, an' don't mean nothin' to me; sounds
kinder nutty." He threw open a drawer, rummaging within, but without
pausing in speech, "Then a fellow blew in yere this mornin' off the
Limited, asking about you, Jim, an' danged if I don't believe he said
his name was Cavendish.
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