“That's a hell of a thing for a nice girl to say. But the thing I have got to do now is to find her. I had two of the cops out, but they can't find any one who has even seen her. Now I was thinking, perhaps you would go with me to see her aunt. She ought to know something about the girl. One of the boys asked the aunt last night if she knew where she was, and she said, ‘No.’ But she might give us some idea. What do you say?”
There was an appealing look on his face as he glanced at me, and I was willing to agree that the aunt should be questioned. Upon asking him when he wanted to go, he said: “At once,” and I told him that if he would wait until I found my hat, I would go with him. The hat found, we went down the steps, and he started for the road, saying that his Ford was standing there. I told him I thought we might go in more comfort in my car and, going to the garage, drove it out to the road. The Airedale jumped into the seat as I stopped for the chief, and as there was plenty of room, I let him stay.
It took us at least fifteen minutes to reach the house before which we stopped. It was a small white place set far back from the street, with a white fence before it. The path we went up was lined with flowers, and roses climbed over the doorway of the house. It was a very pleasant old lady who answered our ringing of the bell—an old lady whose smile turned into an anxious look as she perceived the chief.
She led us into an old-fashioned parlor of the sort I had not seen for years. The haircloth furniture was of a beautiful design, and the old prints upon the wall took me back to my boyhood days in New England. Motioning us to a chair, she seated herself, with a very anxious look upon her face. Then, without waiting for the chief to tell his errand, she asked in a trembling voice:
“I hope you have not heard anything bad about Florence?”
The chief shook his head. “No, Mrs. West,” he replied. “I don't know anything bad about her. But I wanted to ask you some questions. You see we don't know where Florence is, and so far I can't find any one who does. Now, did she come to your house yesterday afternoon?”
The woman was rocking back and forth in her chair. When she answered, I could tell she was worried.
“No,” came the reply. “I have not seen her for several days. You know when she got that position with Mr. Warren, she had to stay at his house. She said he often had her work at night, and it was too far to come back here. She did run in every day or so, but I have not seen her for at least three days. And then—” she paused as if shocked by what she was going to add, then said: “And then I heard about her saying that Mr. Warren ought to be killed.”
The face of the old lady was flushed, but the expression was more one of perplexity than anything else. Her eyes did not leave the chief's face.
“You know, of course, that, though Florence was a very impulsive girl, she was a good girl,” she added proudly.