Then, as Atkins was still absent and there was nothing to do but wait, he sat in the chair in the kitchen and thought.

Occasionally, and it showed the trend of his thoughts, he rose and peered from the window across the dark to the bungalow.

In the living room of the latter structure a light burned.

At ten it was extinguished.
At half past ten he went to Seth's bedroom, found a meager assortment of pens, ink and note paper, returned to the kitchen, sat down by the table and began to write.
For an hour he thought, wrote, tore up what he had written, and began again.

At last the result of his labor read something like this: "DEAR MISS GRAHAM: "I could not say it this afternoon, although if you had stayed I think I should.