For fully a quarter of an hour he allowed the girl to pace up and down the pavement outside the station, waiting with an impatience that was apparent. That message which she believed to be from Frank had filled her mind with all sorts of grave apprehensions. He would surely never appoint that spot as a meeting place if secrecy were not imperative.
She noticed that there were quiet deserted thoroughfares in the vicinity. There he no doubt intended to walk and explain the situation.
Yet why did he not come, she asked herself. Already he was half an hour late, while she, agitated and anxious, could scarcely contain herself.
Suddenly, however, a tall good-looking man in a dark overcoat stood before her and raised his silk hat. She was about to step aside and pass on when the man begged her pardon, and uttered her name, adding:
“I believe you are expecting my friend, Frank Farquhar?”
“Yes,” she replied. “I—I am.” And she regarded the stranger inquiringly.
“He has sent me, Miss Griffin, as he is unfortunately unable to keep the appointment himself?”
“Sent you—why?” asked the girl, looking him straight in the face.
“He has sent me to tell you that something unexpected has happened,” replied the man.
“What has occurred?” she gasped. “Tell me quickly.”