A newsboy thrust the paper at them. Quest glanced at the
headlines. Lenora clutched at his arm. Together they read in great black
type--
ESCAPE OF CONVICTED PRISONER!
MACDOUGAL, ON HIS WAY TO PRISON,
GRAPPLES WITH SHERIFF AND JUMPS
FROM TRAIN! STILL AT LARGE
THOUGH SEARCHED FOR BY
POSSE OF POLICE
2.
The windows of Mrs. Rheinholdt's town house were ablaze with light. A
crimson drugget stretched down the steps to the curbstone. A long row of
automobiles stood waiting. Through the wide-flung doors was visible a
pleasant impression of flowers and light and luxury. In the nearer of the
two large reception rooms Mrs. Rheinholdt herself, a woman dark, handsome,
and in the prime of life, was standing receiving her guests. By her side
was her son, whose twenty-first birthday was being celebrated.
"I wonder whether that professor of yours will come," she remarked, as the
stream of incoming guests slackened for a moment. "I'd love to have him
here, if it were only for a moment. Every one's talking about him and his
work in South America."
"He hates receptions," the boy replied, "but he promised he'd come. I
never thought, when he used to drill science into us at the lectures, that
he was going to be such a tremendous big pot."
Mrs. Rheinholdt's plump fingers toyed for a moment complacently with the
diamonds which hung from her neck.
"You can never tell, in a world like this," she murmured. "That's why I
make a point of being civil to everybody.
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