CHAPTER XII
Word from the Fugitive
I glanced at my watch; it wanted still half an hour of eleven o'clock.
"Let's walk on together," I said; "this needs talking over. A special-delivery letter from New York, then, causes Marcia Lawrence, a well-poised, self-possessed, happy woman, to flee from the man she loves, to wreck her life, throw away her future——" I stopped in despair. Really, I felt for the moment like tearing my hair.
"It seems incredible, doesn't it?" asked Godfrey, smiling at my bewildered countenance.
"Incredible? Why, it's more than that—it's—it's—I don't know any word strong enough to describe it. Godfrey, what is this secret?"
"I know what it isn't."
"Well, what isn't it, then?"
"It isn't about Curtiss. We've looked into his life—I just got a report from Delaney—and he's as straight as a string."