It was after 11.30, next morning. Elbert had sent a telegram to his father that he was starting East to-night. Passing the desk he saw a paper in his box.
‘Friends of yours in Suite 14,’ it read. No signature. Writing he hadn’t seen before.
He stood still for a moment. It wouldn’t be necessary to go up right now. She would be in front in fifteen or twenty minutes. He might let the message wait until afternoon. But after that, perhaps they would be going out somewhere. Better now, yet the hush he was in was hard to break. It was like a spell, yet the elevator door stood open.
It wasn’t Bart who opened the door of the upper room but the old don of El Relicario, and graciously behind him, biding her time, the señora. Then from an inner room (was the crucifix there, too, and the white flower?) came the corn-dust maiden.
‘Ah, Señor, you were so brave—it was all because you were so brave!’
And behind her sounded the easy flowing laugh—words from Bart:
‘Everybody here but the rurales!’
‘Only—’ said Elbert, ‘only my friend—a girl—I’ll get her now—and bring her up.’
THE END
Transcriber’s Notes