“In the hope of finding you.”
“Finding me?”
“I called up the Père Marquette about five minutes ago, and the clerk said that you had just been talking to him on the wire, but that he didn’t know where you were. Then I remembered that you knew the Wallinghams, and I came to Tom’s office to see if he had any idea where you were. I was on my way when I passed you in the elevator.”
“Tom and Bessie are at Glenview,” explained Orme.
“Yes, the girl at the inquiry-desk told me. She went to get her hat to leave for the night, and I slipped into this chamber to wait for you.”
“And here we are,” Orme laughed—“papers and all. But I wish it weren’t so dark.”
Orme hunted his pockets for a match. He found just one.
“I don’t suppose, Girl, that you happen to have such a thing as a match.”
She laughed lightly. “I’m sorry—no.”
“I have only one,” he said. “I’m going to strike it, so that we can get our bearings.”