"Esther Maitland. Is it—is it?"
"Yes—C. P. I've waited until now as I knew there wouldn't be anybody around. It's all right."
"Truly. You're not saying it to keep me quiet?"
"Not a bit. There's no need for any worry. Everything's gone without a hitch."
"And you think it's safe—to—to—take the next step?"
"Perfectly. We're going to get her out of town on Tuesday night."
"Oh!" I could hear the relief in her voice. "You don't know what this means to me?"
He gave a little, dry laugh:
"Me too—I'll admit it's been something of a strain. That's all I wanted to say. Good-by."
I scratched it on the pad, and tiptoed back to my room, short of breath a bit myself. What would Ferguson say to this? I stood by the window, thinking how to send it in, and things went right for out she came from the balcony and walked across to a place on the lawn where there were some chairs under a group of maples. She sat down and began to read, and I stole back to the hall and took a call for the Whitney house. Being Sunday they might be out, but that went right too, for I got the Chief himself. I told him and asked for instructions and they came straight and quick: