A pause.
“Safe, you say? Just the sort of shock she needs to restore her? Good! Good! I’m going right home. Be there when I arrive. All right. Good-by.
“Attend to these things on my desk, Hadden! I’m off to Toronto tonight! King Edward Hotel. Good-by.”
And he rushed to the elevator, and from the elevator to the waiting taxicab, thrust a bill in the chauffeur’s hand and ordered:
“The fastest you ever ran.”
All speed laws were broken in the flight that followed to the Densmore mansion on Riverside Drive. Policemen waved their arms and shouted warnings, pedestrians dodged, many narrow escapes from collisions were made by a hair’s breadth, but the chauffeur knew his business, and Densmore could not ride fast enough.
Dr. Philpot was waiting.
“Go right up, Densmore, and tell her. I’ll follow presently,” he suggested.
When Densmore entered his wife’s apartment a moment later, his face reflecting joy and excitement, she sprang to him, crying: