I had said to Mrs. Lawrence that the cause of her daughter's disappearance—the mystery underlying it—did not concern me; yet that was by far the most interesting feature of the case. To trace the girl must prove an easy task—indeed, I fancied it already as good as accomplished. But to probe the secret—ah, that would not prove so easy! There was no reason why I should attempt it, and yet I could not keep my mind from dwelling on it with a sort of fascination. For I knew it was no ordinary secret—it was something dark and terrifying—something beside which a woman's happiness and reputation had seemed a little thing.
Before I could hope to make any further progress in that direction, I realised that I needed to know more of the family—of its history and social standing. Besides, I must be armed cap-à-pie before I went to that interview which I had determined to seek, in the morning, with Marcia Lawrence.
"Beg pardon, sir," said a voice at my elbow, and looking up, I saw the hotel clerk standing there. "This is Mr. Lester, isn't it?"
"Yes," I answered.
"I have a package here for you," he went on, and handed me a square envelope. "It was left here for you this afternoon."
"Oh, yes," I said; "thank you," and I slipped the envelope into my pocket. "You've had rather an exciting time here to-day," I added.
"You mean the wedding that didn't come off?" he asked, smiling. "It has torn the town wide open, and no mistake."
"So I judged from the papers. The Lawrences are pretty prominent, aren't they?"
"Yes; top-notchers; especially in church circles. I'll bet Dr. Schuyler is all broken up."
"Dr. Schuyler?"