Yours Sincerely,
"MARJORIE."
Donald Camran, Esq., The Lambs.
I had finished the entire story and yet I sat upright, with my senses all about me. I was going to bear it very well, after all.
A knock was heard upon the door of my apartment. The hallboy entered when I bade him do so and handed me a card, with the statement that the gentleman wished to see me on very important business. The name on the card was unknown to me, but I bade the boy send the owner up. It might prove a diversion and anything was welcome that would take my mind from Marjorie.
I rose and was about to greet the new comer in the usual terms when a sight of his face stopped me.
"Mr. Wesson, what does this mean?" I asked, angrily.
"It means," said the person, with all his old coolness, "that Mr. Wesson has disappeared from the scene, and that I am plain Martin Daly, of the Blinkerdon Police, at your service."
Staggered to the last degree I scanned his card again. It read, "M. Daly, Boston."