"I'm sorry—I meant nothing! I've been out of my head with anxiety.... I only thought she might have gone somewhere else to meet you—it was my last hope...."
"What?" Tommy cocked his eyebrows incredulously, with a sort of fierceness. "Hope of what?"
"Why, that Beatrice was still alive."
"Still alive? What on earth—! What makes you think she isn't?"
"Do you mean to say—"
Again the two stared at each other in a strained silence. Then Tommy produced a crumpled yellow envelope from his pocket and handed it to James.
"I got this yesterday morning—that's all I know. I haven't been able to destroy the damned thing...."
James took it and opened it. A telegram:—
It's all off, Tommy. Please go away and forgive me if you can. Beatrice.
He looked at the date at the top. Boston, 8:37 A. M. Boston! The Maine Special did not go into Boston; Beatrice had left it before—before....