His pencil was arrested by an odd, gasping noise from the window. He looked up and saw her sitting stiffly in her chair. Her face seemed to have swollen and to be colored in patches; her eyes were round and amazed.
“Aren't you well?” he inquired, rising in disorder.
Mrs. Bowman opened her lips, but no sound came from them. Then she gave a long, shivering sigh.
“Heat of the room too much for you?” inquired the other, anxiously.
Mrs. Bowman took another long, shivering breath. Still incapable of speech, she took the slip of paper in her trembling fingers and an involuntary exclamation of dismay broke from Mr. Tucker. She dabbed fiercely at her burning eyes with her handkerchief and read it again.
“Tucker.—If this should meet the eye of Charles Tucker, who knew Amelia Wyhorn twenty-five years ago, he will hear of something greatly to his advantage by communicating with N. C, Royal Hotel, Northtown.”
Mrs. Bowman found speech at last. “N. C.—Nathaniel Clark,” she said, in broken tones. “So that is where he went last month. Oh, what a fool I've been! Oh, what a simple fool!”
“Tucker.—If this should meet the eye of Charles Tucker, who knew Amelia Wyhorn twenty-five years ago, he will hear of something greatly to his advantage by communicating with N. C, Royal Hotel, Northtown.”
Mr. Tucker gave a deprecatory cough. “I—I had forgotten it was there,” he said, nervously.
“Yes,” breathed the widow, “I can quite believe that.”