"
"I'm glad he's better. I'll be careful," I assented, and left the
office.
While I waited for a car I bought a copy of the last edition of the
_Sun_--from force of habit, more than anything; then, settling myself
in a seat--still from force of habit--I turned to the financial column
and looked it over. There was nothing of special interest there, and I
turned back to the general news, glancing carelessly from item to
item. Suddenly one caught my eye which brought me up with a shock. The
item read:
Shortly after ten o'clock this morning, a man ran up
the steps of the Cortlandt Street station of the Sixth
Avenue Elevated, in the effort to catch an uptown train
just pulling out, and dropped over on the platform with
heart disease. An ambulance was called from the Hudson
Street Hospital and the man taken there. At noon, it
was said he would recover. He was still too weak to
talk, but among other things, a card of the Cafe
Jourdain, 54 West Houston Street, was found in his
pocket-book. An inquiry there developed the fact that
his name is Pierre Bethune, that he is recently from
France, and has no relatives in this country.
In a moment I was out of the car and running westward to the Elevated.
I felt that I held in my hand the address I needed.
Pages:
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125