"Where is she coming from?" he demanded, as he quickly turned over the
leaves.

"The West," she answered promptly. "The telegram was from Buffalo. I
suppose she was on her way when she sent it."

Brockton had found the right page, and was busy calculating the time
made by the different trains.

"There's a train comes in here at nine-thirty--that's the Twentieth
Century. That doesn't carry passengers from Buffalo. Then there's one
at eleven-forty-one. One at one-forty-nine. Another at three-forty-five.
Another at five-forty and another at five-forty-eight. That's the Lake
Shore Limited, a fast train; and all pass through Buffalo. Did you
think of meeting her?"

"No, she'll come here when she arrives."

"She knows where you live?"

"She has the address."

"Ever been to New York before?"

"I think not."

He passed back the timetable.

"Well, that's the best I can do for you."

"Thank you."

She took the timetable and placed it in the desk. Brockton, who had
taken up his paper again, gave an exclamation of surprise.

"By George--this is funny."

"What?" she demanded, looking impatiently at the clock.

"Speak of the devil, you know."

"Who?"

"Your old friend--John Madison."

Laura started involuntarily. She became deathly pale, and put her head
on the chair-back to steady herself. Controlling her agitation by a
supreme effort, she said:

"What--what about him?"

"He's been in Chicago."

"How do you know?"

Brockton held out the newspaper.

"Here's a dispatch about him."

She came quickly forward and looked over the broker's shoulder. Her
voice was trembling with suppressed excitement, as she said:

"What--where--what's it about?"

Brockton chuckled. Holding out the paper so she could see, and watching
her face closely, he went on:

"I'm damned if he hasn't done what he said he'd do--see! He's been in
Chicago, and is on his way to New York. He's struck it rich in Nevada,
and is coming with a pot of money. Queer, isn't it? Did you know
anything about it?"

"No, no; nothing at all," she said, laying the paper aside and
returning to her former place near the piano. Her face was drawn and
white, and there was a hard, metallic note perceptible in her voice.

"Lucky for him, eh?" said the broker.

"Yes, yes; it's very nice."

"Too bad he couldn't get this a little sooner, eh, Laura?"

"Oh, I don't know," she said, with a forced laugh. "I don't think it's
too bad. What makes you say tha