She twisted the paper, looked around the room vainly for string, and finally tore a thin piece of ribbon from her dress. She tied the message around the ball, set her teeth, and threw it at the empty skylight. The first time she was not successful and the ball came back. The second time it passed through the centre of the opening. She heard it strike the sound portion of the glass outside, heard it rumble down the roof. A few seconds of breathless silence! Her heart almost stopped beating. Had it rested in some ledge, or fallen into the street below? Then she heard the boy’s voice.
“Gee! Here’s the ball come back again!”
A new light shone into the room. She seemed to be breathing a different atmosphere—the atmosphere of hope. She listened no longer with horror for a creaking upon the stairs. She walked back and forth until she was exhausted…. Curiously enough, when the end came she was asleep, crouched upon the bed and dreaming wildly. She sprang up to find Inspector French, with a policeman behind him, standing upon the threshold.
“Inspector!” she cried, rushing towards him. “Mr. French! Oh, thank God!”
Her feelings carried her away. She threw herself at his feet. She was laughing and crying and talking incoherently, all at the same time. The Inspector assisted her to a chair.
“Say, what’s all this mean?” he demanded.
She told him her story, incoherently, in broken phrases. French listened with puzzled frown.
“Say, what about Quest?” he asked. “He ain’t been here at all, then?”
She looked at him wonderingly.
“Of course not! Mr. Quest—”