Groaning, Rhinds bent over to begin work on this new telegram that was
demanded of him. It proved to be a hard message to write. Even while
he worked over the difficult problem, a second telegram arrived, this
from the editor of a Philadelphia morning paper. Then came two from
Boston.
"Good heavens! I can't keep up this pace," groaned John Rhinds. "These
editors won't even give me time for sleep."
Sudden blackness came over his eyes as he sat back, trying to think it
all out.
"I can't answer any of these telegrams," he muttered, tearing up the
offending messages. "Oh, why did Radwin have to take wings at the
very time when I need him most! Fred Radwin, with his cool nerve, his
steely eyes and his glib, lying tongue, would have been ready with
answers for all these questions. But I can't do it. I'll need a
strait-jacket, if these telegrams continue to arrive!"
Yet several more telegrams did come in, from newspapers in various
Eastern states. Rhinds read them, groaned and tore up the messages.
Then he smoked strong cigars, one after another, but that only made his
nerves worse.
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