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It presaged a note brought by one of the young Robeys for Mrs. Otway a note written by Jervis Blake, telling her of his good fortune, and explaining that he had not time to come and thank her in person for all her many kindnesses to him. One sentence ran: "The War Office order is that I come and report myself as soon as possible so of course I had to take the ten-twenty-five train."
She was sitting at her solitary breakfast the next morning when the telephone bell rang. It was from a call office, and presently she heard Cobalt's voice. "Just a word, miss. He leaves by the ten-twenty-five train for Huddersfield," said the voice, "and the person he is going to see is Lady Sybil somebody, and there's money in it." "How do you know?" she asked quickly.
While Barbara was so employed, John March, writing to Henry Fair from somewhere among the Rhode Island cotton-spinners, said: "To-night I go to New York, where I have an important appointment to-morrow noon, but I can leave there Monday morning at five and be in Springfield at ten-twenty-five.
I was working here in the library, and he inside, as was our custom." "The communicating door was kept closed?" "Yes, always. It was open for a minute or less about ten-twenty-five, when a message came for Sir Crichton. I took it in to him, and he then seemed in his usual health." "What was the message?" "I could not say.
"I heard him speaking to the colonel on the landing and I heard the words: 'He'll pay." She thought a moment. "Ten-twenty-five," she repeated; "thank you very much, Mr. Cobalt." She hung up the receiver and sat for a moment in thought, then passed quickly to her bedroom and began to dress. Lady Sybil Crotin was not a popular woman.
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