As she turned on the hail light she saw an envelope on the floor.
Evidently it had been shoved under the door. It was unstamped. She
opened it, and stepped out of the humdrum into the whirligig.

DEAR MISS CONOVER:
If anything should happen to me all the things in my apartment
I give to you without reservation.
STEPHEN GREGORY.

She read the letter a dozen times to make sure that it meant exactly
what it said. He might be ill. After she had cooked her supper she
would run round and inquire. The poor lonely old man!

She went into the kitchen and took inventory. There was nothing
but bacon and eggs and coffee. She had forgotten to order that
morning. She lit the gas range and began to prepare the meal. As
she broke an egg against the rim of the pan the nearby Elevated
train rushed by, drumming tumpitum-tump! tumpitum-tump! She
laughed, but it wasn't honest laughter. She laughed because she
was conscious that she was afraid of something. Impulse drove her
to the window. Contact with men - her unusual experiences as a
reporter - had developed her natural fearlessness to a point where
it was aggressive. As she pressed the tip of her nose against the
pane, however, she found herself gazing squarely into a pair of
exceedingly brilliant dark eyes; and all the blood in her body
seemed to rush violently into her throat.

Tableau!