Harry Bernard's youthful
messenger soon after departed, promising to call again on the
following day, when he might have another message from young Bernard,
who was still supposed to be in St. Louis.
In the meantime the angry and discomfited Elliston repaired to the
hotel and made hasty preparations for departure.
He left on the first train for Chicago.
It was late in the evening that Mrs. Scarlet, in her den on Clark
street, was roused from a nap she was indulging in, with her head
against the wall, by a sharp rap at the door.
Rousing up, she went to see who had come.
She admitted a man with a plug hat and red whiskers.
Professor Darlington Ruggles.
"Aren't you glad to see me, Madam?"
He held out a white set of digits.
"No--why should I be glad?"
She accepted the proffer of friendship, however, and shoved a rickety
old chair for her visitor's use.
"I'll tell you why. Because I am the best friend you've got in
Chicago."
"That wouldn't be saying much," and Mrs. Scarlet laughed harshly.
"Wouldn't it?"
"Didn't I say so? Nobody comes to see me now since poor Nephew Martin
was taken from me. I feel about ready to die but for one thing."
"And that?"
"REVENGE!"
Her eyes snapped in their hollow sockets and the withered bosom heaved
with inward emotion.
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