Behind the closely drawn shutters of another bay-window, farther down
the avenue, on the corner, she knew a man named Hastings was hiding; she
knew that for an hour or more he had been watching her as she wrote. In
the other direction, in a house near the corner, another man named Blair
was similarly ensconced, and he, too, had been watching as she wrote.
There should be a third man, Johnson. Miss Thorne curiously studied the
face of each passer-by, seeking therein something to remember.
She sat at the little mahogany desk and a note with the ink yet wet
upon it lay face up before her. It was addressed to Signor Pietro
Petrozinni in the district prison, and read:
"My Dear Friend:
"I have been waiting to write you with the hope that I could report
Senor Alvarez out of danger, but his condition, I regret to say, remains
unchanged. Shall I send an attorney to you? Would you like a book of any
kind? Or some delicacy sent in from a restaurant? Can I be of any
service to you in any way? If I can please drop me a line.
"Sincerely,
"Isabel Thorne."
At last she rose and standing in the window read the note over, folded
it, placed it in an envelope and sealed it.
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