THE SEARCH BEGINS FOR THE LOST SISTER
There was nothing in Miss Masters’ manner after Druce had made his hasty departure to indicate that she felt any thrills of triumph over the completeness of the dive keeper’s rout. On the contrary she seemed unaccountably depressed. She sat down at her typewriter thinking deeply. Presently her meditations were disturbed.
The door opened quietly. A man entered who, in spite of the shabbiness of his clothing, his emaciation and the haggardness of his features the reader would have had no difficulty in recognizing. He was Harvey Spencer. He stood in the open door looking at the girl uncertainly. She took him in in a glance.
“Good morning,” she said sympathetically. “You are looking for someone here?”
“I was,” replied Harvey enigmatically, “but he’s gone.”
“Gone?” repeated the girl.
“Yes,” replied the caller quickly, “perhaps you can give me some information. That man, who stepped in here a moment ago—you know who he is?”
“Yes,” replied the girl, “his name is Martin Druce.”
“That’s his name, yes—what’s his business?”
“Live stock, he says,” replied Miss Masters in some surprise.
“You know where he lives?”
“No. Won’t you sit down?”
“I can’t. I’m following him.”
The girl was bewildered. “Are you a detective?” she inquired.
The question produced an extraordinary effect on the young man. He threw up his head and gave vent to a short, sharp exclamation.
“Ha!” he said. “No,” he went on, “I once thought I was a detective, but I woke up.” Then he started for the door. “Thank you,” he said. As he reached for the knob he reeled and clutched at the wall for support. Miss Masters started toward him.
“Come,” she said, “sit down. Aren’t you feeling ill? Let me get you a glass of water.”
She drew a glass full from a cooler and carried it to the young man.
“It’s warm,” she said, “you’re exhausted.”
Harvey gulped the contents of the glass, and looked at Miss Masters mournfully.
“Thanks,” he said. “Yes—mighty warm.”
“Looking for a job?” inquired Miss Masters.
“I ought to be,” was the reply.
“Why aren’t you?”
“Because,” Harvey’s despondency deepened, “I’m looking for a girl.”
“A girl from down state?”
“How did you know that?”
“Why,” replied Miss Masters, “you don’t belong to Chicago. Your clothes tell me that. And the girl—she was from your own town?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me about it?” Miss Masters’ manner was friendly. She drew a chair and sat down opposite the young man. Harvey was so moved by this unlocked for sympathy that tears filled his eyes.
“Her name,” he said huskily, “was Elsie Welcome. She ran away. Her father had beaten her. On the night she left the father died. We were to have been married. I learned that she had come to Chicago with this man—Martin Druce. I followed her. For days I have tramped the streets. Today I caught a glimpse of Druce as he entered an elevator in this building. I had just reached here when I lost sight of him.”
The door behind him opened slowly. Miss Masters looked up to see a gray haired woman enter. She wore a waist and skirt of dead black with a little old fashioned black bonnet. Her face was sweet with motherliness, but drawn with sorrow and exhaustion.
“Harvey,” she said.
Harvey turned and hurried to her side.
“I saw you come in here, Harvey,” the woman went on, “so I followed. I hope we’re not intruding Miss—”
“Masters is my name,” responded the stenographer quickly.
“This is the girl’s mother,” said Harvey. “This is Mrs. Martha Welcome.”
Miss Masters hastened to bring another chair.
“And your daughter,” she asked quickly, “have you—”
“I—I don’t think there was anything wrong in Elsie’s going away,” interrupted Mrs. Welcome. “She wasn’t happy and her father—”
“Her father beat her,” said Harvey wrathfully.
“Harvey,” chided Mrs. Welcome, “Tom’s dead. He wasn’t a bad man, Miss Masters. He lost his courage when he lost his invention.”
“I understand,” said Miss Masters sympathetically. “You haven’t heard anything from your lost girl?”
“No,” replied Mrs; Welcome sadly, “not a word. Patience and I and Harvey came to the city hoping to find her—”
“Patience?”
“She’s my other daughter,” replied Mrs. Welcome, “two years older. Elsie was my baby.” Her voice broke.
“I’m wondering,” she went on in subdued tones, “if she’s all right. I’ve prayed, too. Seems as though I’ve prayed every minute that God would bring my baby back to me. You don’t think it makes any difference, do you, Miss Masters, even if we are in a great, noisy city? God is here, too, isn’t he?”
She put out her hand impulsively and Miss Masters took it into her own cool palm.
“Yes, God is here,” she replied reverently, “though sometimes it is hard to have faith and believe it.”
Harvey had walked away and stood looking out at the door.
“Here’s Patience,” he said suddenly.
Patience Welcome entered almost immediately. She was dressed in the same somber black as her mother. She wore a heavy veil pushed back from the brim of her hat. Harvey presented her to Miss Masters.
“I’ve good news for you, mother,” exclaimed Patience after acknowledging the introduction. “I’ve got a place in that office I went into when I left you. I begin work tomorrow. Then when I came out and missed you I was terribly frightened, but the elevator man told me you had come in here. And so I found you.”
“Your mother has been telling me something about the search for your sister,” said Miss Masters. “Perhaps I may be able to help you. Could you tell me something about it?”
“Thank you,” replied Patience, “we need help. It seems as if we had exhausted all our own resources. But we mustn’t stop now. Mother is worn out.”
“Perhaps,” said Miss Masters, “it would be better if this young man should take your mother home. You and I may be able to talk the situation over more confidentially if we are alone.”
“You think you can help us?” inquired Patience eagerly.
Miss Masters was thoughtful. “Yes,” she said, “I believe I have unusual facilities for helping you. I know a great deal about Chicago—”
“Then,” said Patience, “I’ll put our case in your hands. I know I can trust you. Somehow, I feel better already.”
She took Miss Masters’ hands in her own, confidently.
“Yes,” returned Miss Masters, a little tremulously, “you can trust me.”
Harvey in the meantime had helped Mrs. Welcome with her wraps and was leading her toward the door.
“I’ll follow in a little while,” said Patience, as the two passed out the door. “I’ll be home in time for supper.”
“Now,” said Miss Masters, after Harvey and Mrs. Welcome were gone, “first tell me if you have any money.”
Patience hesitated. Such a question coming from a stranger embarrassed her.
“Yes,” she said slowly, “I think we have enough money. Harvey brought fifty dollars with him and Mother was given some money by a man who came to our aid, in Millville—”
“Millville?” interrupted Miss Masters.
“Yes,” continued Patience, “that is the town we live in. The man’s name was Dudley—”
“Dudley!”
Patience looked at Miss Masters in surprise. “You know him?” she asked.
Miss Masters hesitated. “The name seems familiar,” she said.
“He was a stranger in Millville,” Patience went on. “My mother wired to her sister, Sarah, for money after Elsie left us and my father died. My aunt sent us forty dollars.”
There was a pause after this explanation, then Miss Masters went on hesitatingly.
“Forgive me, Miss Welcome,” she said, “if I speak plainly to you. Were there any strangers in Millville about the time your sister went away?”
“Strangers?” repeated Patience.
“Any attractive young men,” pursued Miss Masters.
“Why—why—I—” stammered Patience in confusion.
“There were, I see.”
“You don’t think my sister—” burst out Patience.
“Forgive me,” interrupted Miss Masters, “but when an innocent country girl leaves her home suddenly it is a good rule to look for—the man.”
“You think some one lured Elsie away?” said Patience stifled by the thought. “That some man is to blame?”
“It isn’t an easy thing to say, my dear, but I do.”
“Aren’t there laws against such crimes?”
“Yes,” replied Miss Masters, “but these laws were made by men, and men have always shown an unwillingness to legislate against their sex. Now there were some young men in Millville at the time your sister went away, weren’t there?”
“Yes,” admitted Patience, “two.”
“Do you know their names?”
“Martin Druce.”
“Ah!”
“You know him?”
“I have seen him.” Miss Masters opened her memorandum book. “Martin Druce,” she read, “dealer in live stock.”
“Yes,” assented Patience, “he told us that was his business.”
“And the other stranger, Miss Welcome? Do not hide any of the facts.”
“I’d rather not say,” replied Patience hesitatingly.
“You had better tell me,” urged Miss Masters.
“I—I can’t,” exclaimed the girl, “it hurts me even to think that he—”
“Better tell me,” Miss Masters persisted.
“The other young man,” said Patience, “was—Harry Boland.”
“What?” exclaimed Miss Masters sharply.
“You know Harry Boland?” Patience flushed and stood up.
“I do. You are in the Bolands’ outer offices at this moment.”
She had scarcely spoken when the door of Harry Boland’s office opened and the young man came out.
Patience drew her heavy veil down over her face and darted toward the outer door.
“Here is a corrected form of that contract, Miss Masters,” said young Boland brusquely.