"Yes; a special-delivery letter. It was delivered at 11.15 o'clock yesterday morning. The boy mounted the steps and was going to ring the bell, when Miss Lawrence herself, who was just starting up the stairs, saw him and came to the door, which was open, and took the letter. It was addressed to her and she signed for it." "Where was it from?" I asked. "It was from New York, and across the front, in a bold hand, was written, 'Important--read at once.'" CHAPTER XII Word from the Fugitive I glanced at my watch; it wanted still half an hour of eleven o'clock. "Let's walk on together," I said; "this needs talking over. A special-delivery letter from New York, then, causes Marcia Lawrence, a well-poised, self-possessed, happy woman, to flee from the man she loves, to wreck her life, throw away her future----" I stopped in despair. Really, I felt for the moment like tearing my hair. "It seems incredible, doesn't it?" asked Godfrey, smiling at my bewildered countenance. "Incredible? Why, it's more than that--it's--it's--I don't know any word strong enough to describe it. Godfrey, what is this secret?" "I know what it isn't." "Well, what isn't it, then?" "It isn't about Curtiss. We've looked into his life--I just got a report from Delaney--and he's as straight as a string." "And the women?" "With the women it isn't so easy. You see, they were in Europe for six or seven years, and it's hard to follow them. However, we're on their track, and I have hopes." "Hopes?" "Of proving my theory the right one. Depend upon it, Lester, there's either a lover or a husband in the background somewhere." But again I remembered the photograph. "A lover, perhaps," I admitted, "but not a husband, Godfrey. There's no stain like that on her--there's no stain at all. She's spotless--I'll stake my soul upon it!" He was gazing at me curiously. "You seem mighty certain about it," he commented. For an instant, I had an impulse to show him the photograph. But I stifled it. "I _am_ certain," I answered lamely. "Certain your theory's all wrong." "Well, I'm going to stick to it till I find a better one." "Are you going to make it public?" "No, not till we've something more to back it. We've wired our European correspondents to look up the record of the women while they were abroad. We'll wait till we get reports from them, which will be to-morrow or the day after. Let's see if we can find out which way Miss Lawrence went last night." We had reached the hotel, and, as he spoke, Godfrey turned into it. "The ticket agent boards here," he said, "and I took care to make friends with him. I thought perhaps he might be able to help me. Ah, there he is now. Wait a moment." He hurried forward and intercepted a well-dressed man who was just leaving the office. I saw them stop for a moment's low-toned conversation; then Godfrey turned back towards me.