But he was no more in the dark than
he had been all along. If there was to be light, he must make it for
himself. He would not wait for her to speak out of the darkness. He
would search her out, come what may; he would claim Christine.
With his mind full of the decision to go to New York as soon as
possible, where it would be an easy matter to find Colonel Grand, at
least, he hurried down to an early breakfast, successfully evading his
body-servant. There were two letters in his box, products of the night
mail.
One of them caused him to start and almost cry out aloud. It was from
Artful Dick Cronk. The envelope bore the Jenison crest and it had come
from Jenison Hall. A year had passed since he had heard from the
pickpocket.
The missive was brief, as were all of Dick's communications, written
or oral. It said: "Just stopped off on my way north. Niggers say you
are at the Springs. I'll wait here till you come back, if it ain't too
long. Hope this reaches you prompt, because I am in a hurry to get up
to New York. Don't write. You can get here just as quick as a letter.
Maybe quicker."
Except for the schoolboyish signature, that was all; but there was a
world of importance between the laconic lines.
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