Then he sat silent, his cigar extinguished.

Once he glanced at his watch, but already the hour was too late for any hope of catching the west-bound train, and he dropped it back in his pocket, and sat motionless.
Suddenly some one rapped upon the outside door.

It would be Craig, probably, and he called out a regretful "Come in." A bell-boy stood there, his buttoned-up figure silhouetted against the lights in the hall.
"Lady in Parlor D asked me to hand you this, sir," the boy said.
He accepted the slight bit of paper, scarcely comprehending what it could all mean, turned on an electric bulb over the dresser, and looked at it.

A single line of delicate writing confronted him, so faint that he was compelled to bend closer to decipher: "_If you are waiting my word, I send it._" He caught at the dresser-top as though some one had struck him, staring down at the card in his hand, and then around the silent room, his breath grown rapid.

At first the words were almost meaningless; then the blood came surging up into his face, and he walked toward the door.
There he paused, his hand already upon the knob.