April 3, Thursday—Leaves home, ostensibly for Belair, in company with new maid.
April 14, Monday—Butler reports her disappearance; Royce taken ill; I begin my search.
There I stopped. The last entry brought me up to date—there was nothing more to add. But it seemed impossible that all the developments of this mystery should have taken only a month. For years, as it seemed to me, I had thought of nothing else.
I looked over the schedule again carefully. There was only one opening that I could see where it was possible to begin work with the hope of accomplishing anything. That was in the very first entry. Miss Holladay had driven to Washington Square; she had, I felt certain, visited her sister; I must discover the lodging of this woman. Perhaps I should also discover Frances Holladay there. In any event, I should have a new point to work from.
The police had been over the ground, I knew; they had exhausted every resource in the effort to locate Mr. Holladay's mysterious visitor, and had found not a trace of her. But that fact did not discourage me; for I hoped to start my search with information which the police had not possessed. Brooks, the coachman, should be able to tell me——
Recalled suddenly to remembrance of him, I looked at my watch and saw that it was past his hour. I was pleased to find him awaiting me when I opened the office door three minutes later. I had only a few questions to ask him.
"When your mistress left the carriage the day you drove her to Washington Square, did you notice which street she took after she left the square?"
"Yes, sir; she went on down West Broadway."
"On which side?"
"Th' left-hand side, sir; th' east side."