Her heart was in her throat, but she remained outwardly calm as she replied carelessly: "Only one of the girls who used to be in the same company with me. But I'm not sure that she's coming here." "Then the wire was from her?" "Yes." "Did she say what train she was coming on?" "No." "Well, there are a lot of trains. About what time did you expect her in?" "She didn't say." "Do I know her?" "I think not. I met her while I worked in 'Frisco." "Oh!" He resumed reading his paper, and the next moment Annie re-entered with a timetable. "Thanks," said Laura, taking it. Then, pointing to the breakfast table, she said: "Now take those things away, Annie." The maid started in to gather up the dishes, while her mistress became engrossed in a deep study of the timetable. Soon Annie left the room with the loaded tray, and Laura looked up in despair. "I can't make this out," she cried. Brockton looked up and held out his hand. "Give it here; maybe I can help you." She rose, and, approaching the table, handed him the timetable, a diabolical labyrinth of incomprehensible figures and words specially compiled by railroad managers to puzzle and befog the traveling public. But Brockton, from long practice, seemed familiar with its mysteries. "Where is she coming from?" he demanded, as he quickly turned over the leaves. "The West," she answered promptly. "The telegram was from Buffalo. I suppose she was on her way when she sent it." Brockton had found the right page, and was busy calculating the time made by the different trains. "There's a train comes in here at nine-thirty--that's the Twentieth Century. That doesn't carry passengers from Buffalo. Then there's one at eleven-forty-one. One at one-forty-nine. Another at three-forty-five. Another at five-forty and another at five-forty-eight. That's the Lake Shore Limited, a fast train; and all pass through Buffalo. Did you think of meeting her?" "No, she'll come here when she arrives." "She knows where you live?" "She has the address." "Ever been to New York before?" "I think not." He passed back the timetable. "Well, that's the best I can do for you." "Thank you." She took the timetable and placed it in the desk. Brockton, who had taken up his paper again, gave an exclamation of surprise. "By George--this is funny." "What?" she demanded, looking impatiently at the clock. "Speak of the devil, you know." "Who?" "Your old friend--John Madison." Laura started involuntarily. She became deathly pale, and put her head on the chair-back to steady herself. Controlling her agitation by a supreme effort, she said: "What--what about him?" "He's been in Chicago." "How do you know?" Brockton held out the newspaper. "Here's a dispatch about him." She came quickly forward and looked over the broker's shoulder. Her voice was trembling with suppressed excitement, as she said: "What--where--what's it about?"