Three days went by. Hazel attended the concert with Jack the evening of the day Mr. Andrew Bush received ostentatious burial. At ten the next morning the telephone girl called her.
"Some one wants you on the phone, Miss Weir," she said.
Hazel took up the dangling receiver.
"Hello!"
"That you, Hazel?"
She recognized the voice, half guessing it would be he, since no one but Jack Barrow would be likely to ring her up.
"Surely. Doesn't it sound like me?"
"Have you seen the morning papers?"
"No. What—"
"Look 'em over. Particularly the Gazette."