“How are we going to do that? You looked through that little trunk of his, I suppose, as I told you?”
“Yes. There wasn’t a scrap of paper in there, and this is all that was in his pockets.”
The nurse produced the photograph case and a business card.
Miss Frink examined them. “Yes, there’s John Ogden’s card. I could send for him, but I don’t care to have him see just what I managed to do to his protégé in a few hours. Unless the boy’s in danger, I won’t send, as yet.” Miss Frink looked long at the photograph.
“Might be his sister,” she said. “There’s a resemblance. I hope it isn’t a best girl. He’s too young to be hampered.”
Leonard Grimshaw looked over her shoulder at the picture. His employer glanced at him with a humorous twist of her thin lips.
“You’ve kept free, eh, Grim?”
“I had interests which came first,” responded the secretary, with the reproving tone which he reserved for implications that he had time for any thought separate from Miss Frink’s affairs.
That lady returned the old morocco case and the card to the nurse.
“Keep careful watch,” she said, “and ask Dr. Morton to report to me at his next visit. I wish to send for Mr. Ogden if there is occasion for anxiety.”