"Well, you see, the poor family may live at some distance, and not have any telephone, and they may be ill, or something, and she may be there yet, helping. You know Mopsy is awful kind-hearted. Remember the Simpsons' fire? She forgot everything else in caring for them."
"That's so, my son; at any rate, it's the most comforting theory we've had yet, and I'll go and tell your mother about it. It will help her, I know."
Mr. Maynard went away, and King remained downstairs.
"I'm not going to bed, Cousin Jack," he said; "I'm old enough now to stay up with you men, in trouble like this."
"All right, King. You're showing manly traits, my boy, and I'm proud of you. Now, old chap, between you and me, I don't subscribe to your poor-family theory. It's possible, of course, but it doesn't seem probable to me."
"Well, then, Cousin Jack, what can we do next?"
"We can't do anything till morning; then I think we must see the police."
"Oh, that seems so awful!"
"I know, but if it's the means of finding Marjorie?"
"Then, of course, we'll do it! How early can we see them?"