in the evening. As he was about to enter the elevator he noticed a
grey-suited boy in brass buttons, who stood near by, an inquiring
look in his face.

"This is Mr. Bansemer," observed the laconic youth who ran the
single elevator in the apartment building.

"Something for me?" demanded Graydon, turning to the boy in grey.

"Special delivery letter, sir. Sign here."

Graydon took the thick envelope from the boy's hand. With a start,
he recognised his father's handwriting. Curiously he turned the
letter over in his fingers as he ascended in the car, wonder growing
in his brain. He did not wait to remove his overcoat on entering his
rooms, but strode to the light and nervously tore open the envelope.
Dread, hope, anxiety, conspired tu make his fingers tremble. There
were many closely written pages. How well he remembered his father's
writing!

As he read, his eyes grew wide with wonder and unbelief. They raced
through the pages, wonder giving way to joy and exultation as he
neared the end of the astounding message from the far-away prisoner.

A shout forged to his lips; he hugged the letter to his heart;
tears came into his eyes, a sob broke in, his throat.

"Thank God!" he cried, throwing himself into a chair to eagerly
read and reread the contents of the letter. Suddenly he sprang to
his feet and dashed across the room to the telephone.