"I beg your pardon," interrupted Kennedy, who had heard his footsteps approaching and had placed himself in the hallway so that the attendant could not pass, "but we have called to see Mr. Murtha."
The attendant eyed us curiously. I expected him to say that it was against the rules, or to question our right to see the patient.
"I'm afraid you're too late," he said briefly, instead.
"Too late?" queried Kennedy sharply. "What do you mean?"
The man answered promptly as if that were the quickest way to get back to his own errand.
"Mr. Murtha escaped from his keepers this evening, just after dinner, and there is no trace of him."
XX
THE METRIC PHOTOGRAPH
Murtha's escape from the sanitarium had again thrown our calculations into chaos. We rode back to the city in silence, and even Kennedy had no explanation to offer.
Even at a late hour that night, although a widespread alarm had been sent out for him, no trace of the missing man could be found. The next morning's papers, of course, were full of the strange disappearance, but gave no hint of his discovery. In fact, all day the search was continued by the authorities, but without result.