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450 to go. You know you can trust me. You wait in any of these lovely places and send me. You will be safe, and I'll run. One word is all that is necessary." "But I've got to say that word myself, Hart!" "Then write it, and let me carry it. The message is not going to prove who went to the office and sent it." "That is quite true," she said dropping wearily, but she made no movement to take the pen and paper he offered. "Hart, you write it," she said at last. Henderson turned away his face. He gripped the pen, while his breath sucked between his dry teeth. "Certainly!" he said when he could speak. "Mackinac, August 27, 1908. Philip Ammon, Lake Shore Hospital, Chicago." He paused with suspended pen and glanced at Edith. Her white lips were working, but no sound came. "Miss Comstock is at Terrence O'More's, on Mackinac Island," prompted Henderson. Edith nodded. "Signed, Henderson," continued the big man. Edith shook her head. "Say, 'She is well and happy,' and sign, Edith Carr!" she panted. "Not on your life!" flashed Henderson. "For the love of mercy. Hart, don't make this any harder! It is the least I can do, and it takes every ounce of strength in me to do it." "Will you wait for me here?" he asked.