Romer picked the envelope up, looked inquiringly at its superscription, inserted thumb, and forefinger, drew out its contents, unfolded the same, turned to the beginning, scanned perhaps the first dozen lines, stopped, ran the pages rapidly over to the end, found the signature, then glanced up, and asked, “Are you in a hurry? Have you plenty of time to spare? Because it’s a pretty serious undertaking—to read this through.”
“Here—give it to me,” returned Hetzel. “I’ve been over it once, and got familiar with the handwriting. I’ll read it to you.”
Hetzel read Ruth Ripley’s letter aloud to Romer. The reading consumed rather more than an hour. Not once did Romer interrupt, or Hetzel pause. At the end, the two men looked at each other in silence. By and by Romer’s lips opened.
“By—by God!” was all he said.
Then he began to pace uneasily to and fro across the room.
“Well,” asked Hetzel, “do you think that that’s the sort of a woman to be left locked up in the Tombs prison?”
“Heavens and earth!” cried Romer; and continued his promenade.
“But the question is,” said Hetzel, “whether she’s to be left there in the Tombs. In view of what she has written down in those papers, can’t we get her out? I want to take her home before nightfall to-day. It seems to me, it’s an outrage upon humanity for her to remain locked up an hour longer. You’re acquainted with the practical side of this kind of thing. Now, give me your opinion.”
Romer knitted his brows, and kept on moving back and forth, up and down the room, Gradually, pendulum-fashion, the space covered at each turn shortened somewhat; until finally coming to a standstill, Romer said, “Yes, by Jove! You’re right. She sha’n’. spend another night in that place if I can help it; and I think I can.”
“Good and the less time lost, the better.”