THE BUNDLE OF LETTERS 227 



" French has dropped dead, or the place has 

 caught fire," said Mr Dash wood, as he sprang 

 from the breakfast-table to the writing-table in 

 the window and opened the pages of the ABC 

 railway guide. " Robert, rush out and get a 

 taxi-cab. I've just time to catch the 11.10 from 

 Victoria. Don't mind packing. I'll pack some 

 things in the kit-bag. Get the cab." 



He stuffed some things into the bag, and ten 

 minutes later the cab, which had been brought 

 up to the Vigo Street entrance of the Albany, 

 was taking him to the station. 



That some disaster had happened he was certain. 

 Never for a moment did he dream of the truth of 

 things; the vision of French lying dead, 

 Garry o wen stricken lame, or The Martens in 

 flames, alternating in his mind with attempts to 

 imagine how the girl would meet him, what she 

 would say, and whether she would speak of the 

 occurrence at the bridge. 



He had sent a wire from Victoria telling the 

 train by which he was coming, and as they drew 

 in at Crowsnest station she was the first person 

 he saw upon the platform. As they shook hands 

 he saw at once that the past was not to be referred 

 to. 



"I'm so glad you've come," said the girl. " You 

 have a bag? Well, they'll send it on. We 

 can walk to the house, and I can tell you every- 

 thing on the way." 



" What has happened? " 



