midday
The last peace Sunday London was to know in many weary months went by , a tense and anxious day . Early on Monday the fifth letter from the young man of the Agony Column arrived , and when the girl from Texas read it she knew that under no circumstances could she leave London now . It ran : DEAR LADY FROM HOME : I call you that because the word home has for me , this hot afternoon in London , about the sweetest sound word ever had . I can see , when I close my eyes , Broadway at midday ; Fifth Avenue , gay and colorful , even with all the best people away ; Washington Square , cool under the trees , lovely and desirable despite the presence everywhere of alien neighbors from the district to the South . I long for home with an ardent longing ; never was London so cruel , so hopeless , so drab , in my eyes . For , as I write this , a constable sits at my elbow , and he and I are shortly to start for Scotland Yard . I have been arrested as a suspect in the case of Captain Fraser-Freer 's murder !