“I made a mistake,” Quest confessed. “Something has happened which we ought to have known about. You had better read this message—or, wait, I’ll read it aloud:—
“To Sanford Quest, Garfield Hotel, San Diego.
“Injured in wreck of Limited. Recovered consciousness today. Craig reported burned in wreck but think you had better come on.”
“French, Samaritan Hospital, Allguez.”
“When can we start?” Laura exclaimed excitedly.
Lenora clutched at Quest’s arm.
“I knew it,” she declared simply. “I felt perfectly certain, when they left San Francisco, that something would happen. We haven’t seen the end of Craig yet.”
Quest, who had been studying a time-table, glanced once more at the dispatch.
“Look here,” he said, “Allguez isn’t so far out of the way if we take the southern route to New York. Let’s get a move on to-night.”
Laura led the way to the lift. She was in a state of rare discomposure.
“To think that all the time we’ve been giddying round,” she muttered, “that poor man has been lying in hospital! Makes one feel like a brute.”
“He’s been unconscious all the time,” Quest reminded her.