The next, that he
thought there was, but that he could not tell me where to look for
it. The third, that I was within ten blocks of its doors. Did I
walk? No, I took a taxi. I thought of your impatience and became
impatient too. But when I got there, I stopped hurrying. I waited
a full half-hour in the lobby to be sure that I had not been
followed before I approached the desk and asked to see Mr.
Ostrander. No such person was in the hotel or had been. Then I
brought out my photograph. The face was recognised, but not as
that of a guest. This seemed a puzzle. But after thinking it over
for awhile, I came to this conclusion: that the address I saw
written on the card was not his own, but that of some friend he
had casually met.
This put me in a quandary. The house was full of young men; how
pick out the friend? Besides, this friend was undoubtedly a
transient and gone long ago. My hopes seemed likely to end in
smoke--my great coincidence to prove valueless. I was so convinced
of this, that I started to go; then I remembered you, and
remained. I even took a room, registering myself for the second
time that day,--which formality over, I sat down in the office to
write letters.
Oliver Ostrander is in Washington. That's something.
I cannot sleep. Indeed, I may say that this is the first time in
my life when I failed to lose my cares the moment my head struck
the pillow.
The cause I will now relate.
I had finished and mailed my letter to you and was just in the act
of sealing another, when I heard a loud salutation uttered behind
me, and turning, was witness to the meeting of two young men who
had run upon each other in the open doorway.
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