“Yesterday afternoon, at the opening of the conference.”
Tom Brewster turned to his wife. “Martha, why don’t you take Ted and Monica over to that bench and sit down? We’ll only be a minute. Biff, you stay with me. I want you to know what’s going on. Sorry, Hank, but I didn’t want my wife alarmed. Please continue.”
Biff felt highly pleased that his father wanted him in on whatever was happening.
“Well, Tom, when Johann failed to appear at his place at the speakers’ table, I thought at first he might have been detained, perhaps held up by traffic. Or that he might have been napping after lunch, and had overslept. He’s an old man, you know. And not too strong.”
“Yes. I know. We’ve all been worried about him. He still tries to do too much for a man his age.”
“I waited about fifteen minutes,” Hanale Mahenili continued. “Then I left the head table to go to his hotel. He’s been staying at the Royal Poinciana. On my way there, my fears that he had become ill increased.”
Mr. Mahenili paused, as if ordering his thoughts.
“Yes, yes. Go on.”
“At the hotel, I rang his room. There was no answer. I went to the desk, and they told me they believed the doctor was still in his room. He hadn’t left his key at the desk, which was his habit every time he left the room.”
“I’ll bet you were really worried then,” Biff said.