The old man would be reassured when he saw his Master Jim enter the
house again--and not until then!
Jimmie Dale glanced about him up and down the street. The car had gone,
and he was well away from the entrance to Marlianne's. The street itself
was practically deserted. He nodded quickly, and stepped forward toward
a street lamp that was close at hand. As well here as anywhere! There
was nothing remarkable in the fact that a man should stand under a
street lamp and read a letter--even if he were observed.
He tore the envelope open, and, standing there, leaned in apparent
nonchalance against the post--but into the dark eyes had leaped a sudden
flash. One word seemed to stand out from all the rest on the written
page he held in his hand--"Forrester." He laughed a little in a low,
grim way. His intuition had been right again then, and that
meant--_what_? If she, the Tocsin, knew, then--his mind was working
subconsciously, leaping from premise to a dimly seen, half formed
conclusion, while his eyes travelled rapidly over the written lines.
"Dear Philanthropic Crook:--You will have to hurry, Jimmie.... I do not
know what may happen.... Forrester .
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