For Elsie Powell and her affairs were well known to newspaper readers and the affable Jew felt no qualms of doubt as to his future reimbursement and his usury.
The parcel, made up neatly and inconspicuously, was handed to Elsie and her signed document carefully put away in a big safe.
The transaction meant little to Elsie, herself, so wrapped up was her whole soul in her coming adventure.
She would get Kimball back! That was all she knew or cared about!
She went to Altman’s, her precious package in her handbag, which she carried with seeming carelessness, but with a watchful eye.
She had a strange feeling of security because of the character and appearance of the notes she had received. Had they been illiterate scrawls she would have hesitated to go ahead as she had done, but the educated and socially correct tone of the letters gave her the impression of brains and character, however big a villain the writer might be.
With a beating heart, but with a steady step she came out of Altman’s shop and seemed to glance casually about for a cab.
Seeing a driver with a yellow plaid cap, she beckoned him and got into his cab.
No word was spoken as she settled herself on the seat, and watched the man start the car.
He, too, was nonchalant of manner, and drove away toward Madison Avenue.