“Tom!” she cried, clutching at his arm, a sudden cold terror at her heart. “Something has happened! You can’t keep anything from me! I know too well. Tom, please tell me!”
“Let’s wait till we see how the poor foot is,” Tom muttered. He went on unlacing the boot and kept his eyes resolutely averted from hers.
“Tom!” Her clutch on his arm was imperative, frantic. “Whatever has happened that you are afraid to tell me, don’t torture me by putting it off this way. Can’t you see I must know at once?”
Tom took her cold hand in both his own and from that moment all pretense was gone. The depth of his apprehension showed plainly in his troubled face.
“You’re a brick, Ruth,” he said. “I know you will take this standing as you have taken everything else. But it’s a pretty tough one. Two magazines of films have disappeared!”
CHAPTER XXII
BLOOMBERG STRIKES
Ruth looked at Tom for a moment, completely stunned by the force of this revelation.
“Gone!” she exclaimed. “Tell me! Who found out about the missing magazines and when?”
“Bert Traymore—just a short time ago,” Tom answered jerkily. He drew off the boot and saw with a pang of pity that Ruth’s ankle was swollen and puffy. “As soon as he told me I came to find you.”
“Have you done anything—sent any one to track down the thief?” Ruth’s voice was quiet as she put the questions. No time now for hysteria, she told herself sternly. This occasion called for all the grit and stamina she possessed. No need to ask who was at the bottom of the theft. This was Bloomberg’s revenge—the blow she had been waiting for and dreading ever since she had heard that her enemy was at Knockout Point. To outwit such a man as Bloomberg called for calm nerve and a cool mind. To give way now would be merely to play into Sol Bloomberg’s hands.