He
crossed to the library table and took from the drawer all the
letters thus far received from Zoie. He read them consecutively.
"How could he have been so stupid as not to have realised sooner
that her illness--whatever it was--had been gradually creeping
upon her from the very first day of his departure?"
The boy arrived with the mail. It contained no letter from Zoie
and Alfred went to bed with an uneasy mind.
The next morning he was down at his office early, still no letter
from Zoie.
Refusing his partner's invitation to lunch, Alfred sat alone in
his office, glad to be rid of intrusive eyes. "He would write to
Jimmy Jinks," he decided, "and find out whether Zoie were in any
immediate danger."
Not willing to await the return of his stenographer, or to
acquaint her with his personal affairs, Alfred drew pen and paper
toward him and sat helplessly before it. How could he inquire
about Zoie without appearing to invite a reconciliation with her?
While he was trying to answer this vexed question, a sharp knock
came at the door. He turned to see a uniformed messenger holding
a telegram toward him. Intuitively he felt that it contained
some word about Zoie. His hand trembled so that he could
scarcely sign for the message before opening it.
A moment later the messenger boy was startled out of his lethargy
by a succession of contradictory exclamations.
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