"Or is she in love with her husband and has outgrown her affection for Colonel Trevellian—that's what we have to find out." Astro shook his head.
"You said you knew she was alive, though. How can you be sure that is true?"
"You haven't half examined that envelope," Astro replied abstractedly, as he walked up and down, his chin in his hand, supporting the elbow with his other arm, absorbed in thought.
"It's postmarked New York, though— Oh, I see!" Valeska smiled at him. She had turned back the top flap, which adhered, loosely gummed, and looked at the imprint of the stationer. "Hodge & Durland, Poughkeepsie, N. Y." she read. "She may be there, perhaps. But how did she mail it here in New York?"
"No doubt she gave a porter a dollar at the station to post it when his train got into the city. Perfectly simple. You'll notice that the envelope is badly crumpled and soiled. It has evidently been carried some time in a man's pocket.
"Now," he continued, taking off his robe and turban, "I wish to lose no time; so I'll go right over to the Burbanks', while you wait for the photographs. As soon as they come, take the first train for Poughkeepsie, and see if you can locate Mrs. Burbank. It's unlikely she is still there; yet she may be."
"And if I find her?"
"Keep her in sight, wire me, and await instructions."
"I see." Valeska bent her brows in thought. "If she's gone, of course I'll try to trace her, if I can get it out of the hotel clerks."
"If you can?" Astro, struggling into a long gray overcoat, paused long enough to smile at his assistant.
