the same--Condy, let me have a pencil." She
dashed off a couple of lines on the back of the bill of fare, and her
hand trembled like a leaf as she handed him what she had written.

"Send him--the red-headed man--that telegram. There's an office just
two doors below here, next the drug-store. I saw it as we came by.
You know his initials: remember, you saw them in his hat. W. J. A.,
Luna's restaurant. That's all you want."

"Lord," muttered Condy, as he gazed upon what Blix had written.

"Do you dare?" she whispered, with a little hysterical shudder.

"If it failed we've nothing to lose."

"And K. D. B. is coming nearer every instant!"

"But would he go--that is, at once?"

"We can only try. You won't be gone a hundred seconds. You can leave
me here that length of time. Quick, Condy; decide one way or the
other. It's getting desperate."

Condy reached for his hat.

"Give me some money, then," he said. "You won all of mine."

A few moments later he was back again and the two sat, pretending to
eat their chili peppers, their hearts in their throats, hardly daring
to raise their eyes from their plates. Condy was actually sick with
excitement, and all but tipped the seltzer bottle to the floor when a
messenger boy appeared in the outer room. The boy and the proprietor
held a conference over the counter. Then Richard appeared between the
portieres of Nottingham lace, the telegram in his hand and the boy at
his heels.

Evidently Richard knew the red-headed man, for he crossed over to him
at once with the words:

"I guess this is for you, Mr. Atkins?"

He handed him the despatch and retired. The red-headed man signed the
receipt; the boy departed. Blix and Condy heard the sound of torn
paper as the red-headed man opened the telegram.

Ten seconds passed, then fifteen, then twenty. There was a silence.
Condy dared to steal a glance at the red-headed man's reflection in the
mirror. He was studying the despatch, frowning horribly. He put it
away in his pocket, took it out again with a fierce movement of
impatience, and consulted it a second time. His "supper Mexican"
remained untasted before him; Condy and Blix heard him breathing loud
through his nose. That he was profoundly agitated, they could not
doubt for a single moment. All at once a little panic terror seemed to
take possession of him. He rose, seized his hat, jammed it over his
ears, slapped a half-dollar upon the table, and strode f