XIX
"THE END OF THE PERFECT DAY"
Jane was the first in that astonished group to recover, and her voice was as sweet and clear as a trumpet-call of victory, singing her gladness and trust: "I knew it! I knew it! But who are you, sir? Page said his father was dead."
"I? My name is Ford Page Hamilton, and this is my boy. I've been looking for him for months."
Page's eyes intently searched his father's face, as alternate fear and joy possessed him. The moment was tense; we waited breathlessly; at last Page asked: "But, Father, what did I do with them?"
"With what, son?"
"The bags of money—the collection I was to turn over to the firm."
"You delivered them sealed and labeled, then you disappeared off the map, just as if you had melted."
The word "melted" seemed to open in the brain of the invalid a door long closed. A sleeping memory stirred. "Wait! It is all coming back! Give me time!" he pleaded.
It was no place for a crowd. I took Zura by the hand, pulled Jane's sleeve, motioned Kobu toward the door, and together we went softly away.