sprang forward to her assistance and picked her up--with her wrist and
ankle broken. She was plucky, however, wonderfully plucky. She did not
faint, as I'm sure I should have done; she just turned ghastly pale--and
said to me, with a bit of smile, motioning for me to bend over her so
that none could hear:

"'I told you so, Edith. Here is where you come in.' She slid her hand
under her skirt, drew out the envelope, and slipped it to me. 'Hurry!'
she said. 'You can yet make the train.'

"But I was obdurate; I wouldn't leave her until she was in a hospital
and comfortable. And when she saw I meant it, she smiled--and fainted.
Well, instead of the ten o'clock train, I caught the twelve, which
should have landed me here at five, but a series of delays, due to
accidents ahead; put us at seven. It was, I thought, too late to deliver
my letter that evening, so I took a taxi here and had dinner. Then I
paid a short visit to some friends at the Shoreham and returned shortly
before midnight. I found two notices that I had been called on the
telephone at 10:15 and 11:00, by parties who declined to give their
names or leave a call. This struck me as queer since no one knew of my
being in town except my friends at the Shoreham. A moment after I
entered my room, the telephone rang. I answered. A man's voice came
back.

"'Who is that?' said he.

"'Whom do you want?' said I.

"'I wish to speak to Mrs. Clephane.'