hours. The lawyers had filed it at 8:30 o'clock.
He read it at a glance, his eyes burning, his heart freezing. To the end of his days these words lived sharp and distinct in his brain.
"Come to the office immediately. Will wait all night for you if necessary. Jones has disappeared and there is absolutely no trace of him.
Brewster sat as one paralyzed, absolutely no sign of emotion in his face. The others began to clamor for the contents of the telegram, but his tongue was stiff and motionless, his ears deaf. Every drop of blood in his body was stilled by the shock, every sense given him by the Creator was centered upon eleven words in the handwriting of a careless telegraph operator—"Jones has disappeared and there is absolutely no trace of him."
"JONES HAS DISAPPEARED!" Those were the words, plain and terrible in their clearness, tremendous in their brutality. Slowly the rest of the message began to urge its claims upon his brain. "Come to our office immediately" and "Will wait all night" battled for recognition. He was calm because he had not the power to express an emotion. How he
