Suddenly the telephone startled us. We had wanted it to ring, yet when it rang we were afraid of it. What was its message? It was with palpitating hearts that we listened, while Craig answered.
"Yes, Burke," we heard him reply, "this is Kennedy."
There came a pause during which we could scarcely wait.
"Where are you now? Cold Stream. That is about twelve miles from
Rockledge—not on the New York road—the other road. I see. All right.
We'll be there. Yes, wait for us."
As Craig hung up the receiver, we crowded forward. "Have they found her?" asked Lockwood hoarsely.
"It was from Burke," replied Kennedy deliberately. "He is at a place called Cold Stream, twelve miles from here. He tells me that we can find it easily—on a state road, at a sharp curve that has been widened out, just this side of the town. There has been an accident—Whitney's car is wrecked."
Lockwood seized his elbow. "My God," he exclaimed, "tell me—she isn't—hurt, is she? Quick!"
"So far Burke has not been able to discover a trace of a thing, except the wrecked car," replied Kennedy. "I told him I would be over directly. Lockwood, you may take Jameson and Alfonso. I will go with the Senora and their driver."
I saw instantly why he had divided the party. Neither mother nor son was to have a chance to slip away from us. Surely both Lockwood and I should be a match for Alfonso. Senora de Moche he would trust to none but himself.
Eagerly now we prepared for the journey, late though it was. No one now had a thought of rest. There could be no rest with that mystery of Inez challenging us.