I opened it. It ran:
"Starting for Algiers. Meet me.--LOLA."
It was despatched that morning from Victoria Station. I gazed at it
stupidly. Why in the world was Lola Brandt coming to join me in Algiers?
If she had wanted to do her husband hunting on her own account, why had
she put me to the inconvenience of my journey? Her action could not have
been determined by my letter about Anastasius Papadopoulos, as a short
calculation proved that it could not have reached her. I wandered round
and round the garden paths vainly seeking for the motive. Was it escape
from Dale? Had she, womanlike, taken the step which she was so anxious
to avoid--and in order to avoid taking which all this bother had
arisen--and given the boy his dismissal? If so, why had she not gone to
Paris or St. Petersburg or Terra del Fuego? Why Algiers? Dale abandoned
outright, the necessity for finding her husband had disappeared. Perhaps
she was coming to request me, on that account, to give up the search.
But why travel across seas and continents when a telegram or a letter
would have sufficed? She was coming at any rate; and as she gave no date
I presumed that she would travel straight through and arrive in about
forty-eight hours.
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