“But that isn’t it,” exclaimed the now thoroughly discouraged husband.  “I am afraid for her reason, afraid for her life.  There is something decidedly wrong somewhere.  Don’t you see that I must have an immediate interview with her if only to satisfy myself that she aggravates her own danger?  Why should she make a will in this underhanded way?  Does she fear opposition from me?  I have a fortune equal to her own.  It is something else she dreads.  What?  I feel that I ought to know if only to protect her against herself.  I would even promise not to show myself or to speak.”

“I am sorry to have to say good afternoon, Mr. Ransom.  Have you any commands that I can execute for you?”

“None but to give her my love.  Tell her there is not a more unhappy man in New York; you may add that I trust her affection.”

The lawyer bowed.  Mr. Ransom and Gerridge withdrew.  At the foot of the stairs they were stopped by the shout of a small boy behind them.

“Say, mister, did you drop something?” he called down, coming meanwhile as rapidly after them as the steepness of the flight allowed.  “Mr. Harper says, he found this where you gentlemen were sitting.”

Mr. Ransom, somewhat startled, took the small paper offered him.  It was none of his property but he held to it just the same.  In the middle of a torn bit of paper he had read these words written in his own wife’s hand: 

    Hunter’s Tavern,
          Sitford, Connecticut. 
    At 9 o’clock April the 15th.

“By Jove!” he exclaimed, “no one will ever hear me say again that lawyers are devoid of heart?”

CHAPTER VII

RAIN

Mr. Ransom had never heard of Sitford, but upon inquiry learned that it was a small manufacturing town some ten miles from the direct route of travel, to which it was only connected by a stage-coach running once a day, late in the afternoon.

What a spot for a meeting of this kind!  Why chosen by her?  Why submitted to by this busy New York lawyer?  Was this another mystery; or had he misinterpreted Mr. Harper’s purpose in passing over to him the address of this small town?  He preferred to think the former.  He could hardly contemplate now the prospect of failing to see her again which must follow any mistake as to this being the place agreed upon for the signing of her will.

Meantime he had said nothing to Gerridge.  This was a hope too personal to confide in a man of his position.  He would go to Sitford and endeavor to catch a glimpse of his wife there.  If successful, the whole temper of his mind might change towards the situation, if not toward her.  He would at least have the satisfaction of seeing her.  The detective had enough to do in New York.

April the fifteenth fell on Tuesday.  He was not minded to wait so long but took the boat on Monday afternoon.  This landed him some time before daylight at the time-worn village from which the coach ran to Sitford.  A railway connected this village with New York, necessitating no worse inconvenience than crossing the river on a squat, old-fashioned ferry boat; but he calculated that both the lawyer and Mrs. Ransom would make use of this, and felt the risk would be less for him if he chose the slower and less convenient route.