” A shade of concern darkened Carol Diedermayer’s face. “MY DEAR FATHER,” she wrote,—“I have been thinking hard about everything since I was sent to this prison. ‘How in God’s name did the wretched fellow get in then?’ ‘Dug a tunnel?’ suggested Gerald, halting next to a pair of French windows at the front. Small, but eminently serviceable. But although startled and clearly afraid, there was no self-consciousness in her gaze and she was standing her ground. It resembled Mardi Gras, and she thought disdainfully of New Orleans. A faint buzz above the ceiling witnessed that petrography, too, was active. The old lady clearly read his state of mind, for the apparently irrepressible dimple peeped out. For it was but logical that she would seek a divorce on the ground that she had unknowingly married a fugitive from justice.
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