As she turned on the hail light she saw an envelope on the floor.

Evidently it had been shoved under the door. It was unstamped. She

opened it, and stepped out of the humdrum into the whirligig.

DEAR MISS CONOVER:

If anything should happen to me all the things in my apartment

I give to you without reservation.

STEPHEN GREGORY.

She read the letter a dozen times to make sure that it meant exactly

what it said. He might be ill. After she had cooked her supper she would

run round and inquire. The poor lonely old man!

She went into the kitchen and took inventory. There was nothing but

bacon and eggs and coffee. She had forgotten to order that morning. She

lit the gas range and began to prepare the meal. As she broke an egg

against the rim of the pan the nearby Elevated train rushed by,

drumming tumpitum-tump! tumpitum-tump! She laughed, but it wasn't honest

laughter. She laughed because she was conscious that she was afraid

of something. Impulse drove her to the window. Contact with men--her

unusual experiences as a reporter--had developed her natural

fearlessness to a point where it was aggressive. As she pressed the tip

of her nose against the pane, however, she found herself gazing squarely

into a pair of exceedingly brilliant dark eyes; and all the blood in her

body seemed to rush violently into her throat.

Tableau!




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