yed to the woman while on the
stage.

No paper mentioned the name of Whitaker....

In the course of the forenoon a note for Whitaker was delivered at the
hotel.

The heavy sheet of white paper, stamped with the address in
Fifty-seventh Street, bore this message in a strong but nervous hand:

"I rely upon the generosity you promise me. This marriage of ours,
that is no marriage, must be dissolved. Please let my
attorneys--Landers, Grimshaw & Clark, 149 Broadway--know when and
where you will accept service. Forgive me if I seem ungrateful and
unfeeling. I am hardly myself. And please do not try to see me now.
Some day I hope to see and thank you; to-day--it's impossible. I am
going away to forget, if I can.

"MARY LADISLAS WHITAKER."

Before nightfall Whitaker had satisfied himself that his wife had, in
truth, left her town house. The servants there informed all who inquired
that they had been told to report and to forward all letters to Messrs.
Landers, Grimshaw & Clark.

Whitaker promptly notified those attorneys that he was ready to be
served at their convenience. He further desired them to inform their
client that her suit would be uncontested. But beyond their brief and
business-like acknowledgment, he heard nothing more of the action for
divorce.

He sought Max several times without success. When at length run to
ground in the roulette room of a Forty-fourth Street gambling-house, the
manager was grimly reticent. He professed complete ignorance of his
star's welfare and whereabouts. He advised Whitaker to consult the
newspapers, if his interest was so insatiable.

Warned by the manager's truculent and suspicious tone that his secret
was, after all, buried no more than skin-deep, Whitaker dissembled
artfully his anxiety, and abandoned Max to his pet vices.

The newspapers reported Sara Law as being in retirement in several
widely separated sections of the country. She was also said to have gone
abroad, sailing incognito by a second-class steamship from Philadelphia.

The nine-days' wonder disintegrated naturally. The sobriquet of "The
Destroying Angel" disappeared from the newspaper scare-heads. So also
the name of Drummond. Hugh Morten Whitaker, the dead man come to life,
occupied public interest for a brief half-day. By the time that the
executors of Carter Drummond and the attorneys representing his clients
began to make sense of his estate and interests, their