“You bet it will!” cried Prescott. “That’s the kind of talk. But have you some real information, or merely a supposition that doesn’t mean anything definite?”
“We’ll see,” and Barry shook his head. “I’m not telling it all now. But I came to see Miss Lindsay. Where is she?”
“She’ll be here in a minute,” Millicent said, eyeing Barry closely.
But in a minute, instead of Phyllis, Hester returned.
Excitedly, she exclaimed, “Miss Phyllis is gone. Nobody saw her go and nobody knows where she is!”
“Gone!” said Millicent contemptuously; “how absurd! If you mean she has run away! Phyllis wouldn’t do that.”
“Well, madam, she’s not in the apartment. Her moleskin coat is gone from her wardrobe, and her little taupe hat. She has certainly gone out, ma’am.”
And gone Phyllis surely had. It was foolish to look for her in the rooms, for her hat and coat were missing, of course she had gone out into the street; whether for some ordinary errand, or to disappear who could tell?
“I’ll find her,” said Prescott, and clapping on his hat he hurried away.