As she turned on the hail light she saw an envelope on the floor.
Evidently it had been shoved under the door. It was unstamped. She
opened it, and stepped out of the humdrum into the whirligig.
DEAR MISS CONOVER:
If anything should happen to me all the things in my apartment
I give to you without reservation.
STEPHEN GREGORY.
She read the letter a dozen times to make sure that it meant exactly
what it said. He might be ill. After she had cooked her supper she would
run round and inquire. The poor lonely old man!
She went into the kitchen and took inventory. There was nothing but
bacon and eggs and coffee. She had forgotten to order that morning. She
lit the gas range and began to prepare the meal. As she broke an egg
against the rim of the pan the nearby Elevated train rushed by,
drumming tumpitum-tump! tumpitum-tump! She laughed, but it wasn't honest
laughter. She laughed because she was conscious that she was afraid
of something. Impulse drove her to the window. Contact with men--her
unusual experiences as a reporter--had developed her natural
fearlessness to a point where it was aggressive. As she pressed the tip
of her nose against the pane, however, she found herself gazing squarely
into a pair of exceedingly brilliant dark eyes; and all the blood in her
body seemed to rush violently into her throat.
Tableau!