"Why not?"
"She is ill; I am sure that they will let no one approach her. One of her maids was in this morning. She did not even ask me to come over."
"I am sorry," said I, "but I shall make the effort. The illness which affects Mrs. Ocumpaugh can be best cured by the restoration of her child."
"But you have not found Gwendolen?" she replied.
"No; but I have discovered footprints on the dust of the bungalow floor, and, as you know, a bit of candy which looks as if it had been crushed in a sleeping child's hand, and I am in need of every aid possible in order to make the most of these discoveries. They may point the way to Gwendolen's present whereabouts and they may not. But they shall be given every chance."
"Whoop! get up! get up!" broke in a childish voice from the upper landing.
"Am I not right?" I asked.
"Always; only I am sorry for Mrs. Ocumpaugh. May I tell you—" as I laid my hand upon the outer door-knob—"just how to approach her?"
"Certainly, if you will be so good."
"I would not ask for Miss Porter. Ask for Celia; she is Mrs. Ocumpaugh's special maid. Let her carry your message—if you feel that it will do any good to disturb her."