“Fortunate I was here when you came,” the young man said. “Another man is taking charge. Mr. Merrick is putting me somewhere else. I don’t know where, but I report for duty at once.”
Betty took from her handbag a clipping from a newspaper. She had written the date of publication on the headlines. It was about nine months before that time.
She handed the slip of paper to him.
“Did you ever hear of Captain Thurston K. Hollister?” the girl asked, on a note of tremulousness.
He looked during what seemed a long silence at the picture of the officer in uniform and the caption beneath it.
“Where did you get this?” he asked at last.
“I found it covering our pantry shelf, where it had been ever since spring.”
“And you’ve brought it to me because you think I’m Hollister?”
“Aren’t you?”
“Yes.”