XX
RISEN FROM THE DEAD
COLONEL KENT, in a distant structure which, by courtesy, was called "the
hotel," had pushed away his breakfast untasted, save for a small portion
of the nondescript fluid the frowsy waitress called "coffee." He had
been delayed, missed his train at the junction point, and, fretting with
impatience, had been obliged to pass the night there.
He had wired to Madame Francesca the night before, but, as yet, had
received no answer. He had personally consulted every surgeon of
prominence in the surrounding country, and all who would not say flatly,
without further information than he could give them, that there was no
chance, had been asked to go and see for themselves.
One by one, their reports came back to him, unanimously hopeless.
Heartsick and discouraged, he rallied from each disappointment, only to
face defeat again. He had spent weeks in fruitless journeying, following
up every clue that presented itself, waited days at hospitals for chiefs
of staff, and made the dreary round of newspaper offices, where
knowledge of every conceivable subject is supposedly upon file for the
asking.
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