Morton held the flimsy paper in his hand scarcely believing what he had read. It had come at last. He expected it and yet it shocked him deeply. Well, he must be up and doing quickly.
The wire from Donald told him that the ladies were leaving for Weimar that day. Mr. Tyler was with them and everything had been satisfactorily arranged; he had received no news from Brindisi.
He also opened a note from his friend Stillman which said that he would call on him at nine that evening.
Morton looked at the clock; he had just forty minutes before Stillman was due.
It was absolutely necessary that some person should convey the sad tidings to the poor girl. Tyler was the man, of course; there was time to wire him asking him to wait for a letter. He rang for a messenger and sent off the following telegram: “Please wait at Weimar for my letter mailed you via Oriental Express. What we anticipated has happened. Rondell is dead. Say nothing to the Comtesse Helène until you receive my letter.”
Morton was putting the finishing touches to a hasty toilet when his friend Stillman was announced.
“Hello, Jack!”
“How do, Harry!”
The two exchanged cordial and prolonged handshakes.
“Well, upon my soul, Jack, old man, you’ve not changed nearly as much as I expected. You look perfectly civilized. Where have you been and why are you leaving us so quickly? We surely will have a couple of days together, eh? How’s the governor and Mrs. Morton? What do you hear from Ruth?”