eyes. He stroked the golden-brown hair with an utter sense of
helplessness.

"Nothing yet," he said finally, and there was a thin assumption of
cheeriness in his tone. "It may be another hour, but it will come--
it will come."

"But if it doesn't, Gene?" she queried insistently. Always her mind
went back to that possibility.

"We shall cross no bridges until we reach them," he replied. "There
is always a chance that the pigeons might have gone astray, for they
have this single disadvantage against the incalculable advantage of
offering no clew to any one as to where they go; and it is impossible
to follow them. If nothing comes in half an hour now I shall send
two more."

"And then, if nothing comes?"

"Then, my dear, then we shall begin to worry."

Half an hour passed; the little bell was silent; Claflin and Sutton
were still visible from the window. Miss Kellner's eyes were
immovably fixed on Mr. Wynne's face, and he repressed his gnawing
anxiety with an effort. Finally he wrote again on the tissue slips--
three of them this time--and together they climbed to the roof,
attached the messages, and watched the birds disappear.

Another hour--two hours--two hours and a half passed. Suddenly the
girl arose with pallid face and colorless lips.