rom out the dark void of the sky, I know
there will come a trill of the telephone on the desk at my elbow; my
own Polly--whose name happens to be Mary--is watching as I take down
the receiver to reply.

CHAPTER III--THE OTHER MAN

It is useless to dissimulate longer, then. I am discovered, and I know
I am discovered. "Hello, Sandford," I greet without preface.

"Sandford!" (I am repeating in whispers what he says for my Polly's
benefit.) "Sandford! How the deuce did you know?"

"Know?" With the Hyde-like change comes another, and I feel positively
facetious. "Why I know your ring of course, the same as I know your
handwriting on a telegram. What is it? I'm busy."

"I'm busy, too. Don't swell up." (Imagine "swell up" from Sandford,
the repressed and decorous!) "I just wanted to tell you that the
honkers are coming."

"No! You're imagining, or you dreamed it!... Anyway, what of it? I
tell you I'm busy."

"Cut it out!" I'm almost scared myself, the voice is positively
ferocious. "I heard them not five minutes ago, and besides, the storm
signal is up. I'm getting my traps together now. Our train goes at
three-ten in the morning, you know."

"Our-train-goes-at-three-ten--in-the-morning!"

"I said so."

"_Our_ train?"

"Our train: the one which is to take us out to Rush Lake. Am I clear?
I'll wire Johnson to meet us with the buckboard."

"Clear, yes; but go in the morning--Why, man, you're crazy! I have
engagements for all day to-morrow."

"So have I."

"And the next day."

"Yes."

"And the next."

"A whole week with me. What of it?"

"What of it! Why, business--"

"Confound business! I tell you they're coming; I heard them. I haven't
any more time to waste talking, either. I've got to get ready. Meet
you at three-ten, remember."

"But--"

"Number, please," requests Central, wearily.

CHAPTER IV--CAPITULATION

Thus it comes to pass that I go; as I know from the first I shall go,
and Sandford knows that I will go; and, most of all, as Mary knows
that I will go.

In fact, she is packing for me already; not saying a word, but simply
packing; and I--I go out-doors again, sidling into a jog beside the
bow-window, to diminish the din of the wind in my ears, listening
open-mouthed until--

Yes, there it sounds again; faint, but distinct; mellow, sonorous,
vibrant. _Honk!_ _honk!_ _honk!_ and again _honk!_ _honk!_ _honk!_ It
wafts downward from some place, up above where the stars should b