Hetzel opened the door. A telegraph-boy confronted him.
“Ripley?” the boy demanded.
“Yes—yes,” said Arthur, and seized hold of the dispatch that the boy offered.
But his courage forsook him. He turned white, and leaned against the wall for support.
“Some—something has happened to her,” he gasped. “Read it for me, Hetz, and let me know the worst.”
“No, it isn’t from her. It’s from Mr. Flint,” said Hetzel, after he had read it.
“Oh,” sighed Arthur.—“Well, what does he say?”
“Here.”
Hetzel put the telegram into Arthur’s hands. Its contents were:—
“Victory! Meet me to-morrow morning, 10:30, at district-attorney’s office. Every thing satisfactorily arranged. Absolutely nothing to fear.—Arthur Flint.”