"Then if that be the case——"
"Sure thing—you daren't babble!" admitted Devereux. "However, she has a reason, and I'm damn curious to know what it is—though I bet it is a woman's reason, which is no reason at all."
But Pendleton did not enlighten him by so much as a look, and the next moment the car drew up at the station.
That afternoon, when he was about to leave his office, Pendleton had a telephone call from the Hospital. Lorraine wanted to see him, the resident physician said, and would he come around before dinner; something seemed to be on Lorraine's mind, to be worrying and exciting him. He was much better and it would do him no harm to see Pendleton a short while.
"I'll come at once," said Pendleton.
Lorraine was sitting up in a pillowed chair when he entered.
"How are you, Pendleton?" he said somewhat weakly, and holding out his hand. "I hope I'm not too much of a bother to you."
"Not a bit," replied Montague. "I'm glad to see you so far on the mend. I feared that you were pretty much all in, from the newspaper accounts of the accident."
"I thought so myself—or rather I didn't think until later. However, I'm not so much battered up as they had thought, and I'll be out in a week; a trifle bruised and cut and sore, possibly, but nothing serious. My head is all right—the injury was only temporary, thank the Lord!"