“Yes, honorable doctor.” Ito gravely picked up his overcoat and umbrella. “We approach Spartanburg——”
“We do,” dryly. “Just drawing into the station in fact, and here’s the conductor. Don’t move, Mr. Ito,” and Shively’s deep voice spoke command. “Wait.”
“Here’s your telegram, Doctor, the station master threw it to me.” The conductor was a trifle breathless. “What does it say, sir?”
Snatching it from him Shively tore open the dispatch and scanned it hurriedly. A look of perplexity replaced his eagerness as he read the message aloud.
Yoshida Ito was in library from noon until twenty minutes of two P. M. today. Had long talk with him.
C. L. Glenworth, librarian.
The Japanese, standing hat in hand, overcoat over arm, spoke first.
“Is it permitted that I go?” he asked, addressing all but looking at Shively.
“Surely.” The conductor stepped aside and Ito, bowing gravely, motioned to the waiting porter to take his suitcases, and started for the vestibule of the sleeper.
“One moment,” protested Shively, and Ito stopped, but again the conductor interfered.