And after he was gone, curious as she had been to hear what he had to say about them, she was glad she had resisted the temptation.
The stifling afternoon dragged on. Patricia found ample food for thought in the news she had heard from the bell-boy, and spent the hours in fruitless surmise. On one score at least, she was relieved, almost happy. Virginie had not tried to slip away without letting her know she was going—perhaps she was trying to tell her destination; perhaps she was promising to write. But whatever it was, she had at least tried to send her some word. But why had her companion seemed to suspect it, to make it impossible? If indeed, she had! Why had not Madame Vanderpoel herself left a pleasant message of regret at leaving, when she had seemed so cordial, so friendly? Patricia could not but admit that the action had a very dark and suspicious aspect, after what had happened the night before.
And that brought her back again to her own troubles: The Crimson Patch!—who had taken it? Which one of the four that had had access to the room last night had concealed and carried it away? All of a sudden she sat up very straight. There were not four—there were only three! For beyond all question she was certain now that Chester Jackson was in nowise concerned in the matter. She could not explain how she knew—she simply knew. Something in that honest, snub-nosed, smiling face, those candid, merry eyes, assured her. Chet Jackson was unquestionably eliminated from the subject, and the puzzle was reduced to a triangle.
Half an hour later there was another knock at the door and Chester, re-appearing, presented her with a special delivery letter. He stood informally watching her while she tore it open and read it breathlessly. It was from her father, written that morning from New York, and it told her that he thought he was on the track of something that seemed important. The matter would keep him over night, but she must not be alarmed. She was to put herself in Mrs. Quale's care from dinner-time on, and he would return the next day and tell her all about things. That was all.
Though he had touched on nothing directly, Patricia was certain, of course, that he referred to the matter of the Crimson Patch. She was glad that he seemed to be in the way of discovering anything at all that would lead to the unraveling of their difficulty, but she felt suddenly very forlorn at the thought of his being away over night for the first time. And Chet, watching her keenly, saw her face fall.
"Any bad news?" he inquired casually.
"No," she replied, rather pleased to have some one to talk to, so lonely had been her day. "Father's going to be away over night on some important business. I'll miss him awfully."
"Say!" ventured Chet, in a confidential tone, "I ask your pardon for speakin' about it, but you folks have had some trouble since yesterday, haven't you?"
Rather startled, Patricia nodded her head. Then she looked alarmed, to think that, by even so much, she had revealed something of her father's secret.
"Never you mind!" Chet assured her. "Don't get scared because you think you're giving anything away. I know a heap more than any one thinks I do." And at her amazed expression, he added: