"Where was Johnson Boller all this time?" Beatrice asked.
Although Johnson Boller held his breath, Anthony Fry batted never an eyelash. Dignified, austere exponent of the rock-ribbed truth that he had once been, all his sails were set now and the rudder lashed in place for the sinful course. It would have been a downright effort just then for Anthony to have told the truth about anything whatever.
"Johnson never came until an hour after it was over," he said. "He went to a prize fight, Mrs. Boller, and after that met some out-of-town people in the woolen trade and worked until nearly two this morning winding up a contract."
"D'ye see?" said Johnson Boller, when his breath came back. "D'ye see? You had me down for everything that was worst in the world, kid, and now you hear the truth."
All unaware was Anthony Fry of the sharp start of Hobart Hitchin. All unaware was he that the crime-student, rousing from his partially scared state, had smiled suddenly. All unaware, in fact, was Anthony, of the terrible slip he had just made.
"That is almost all of the story," he said, with a miserable little smile at Dalton. "The young lady was taken, in an automobile, half-stupefied, to—a certain town in New Jersey, Dalton. She is unharmed and has been unharmed; that at least I am able to guarantee you."
"And she's there now?" Dalton cried.
"She is there now and——"
"What town?"
"That I will not tell you, because it will involve several poor devils I've hired in connection with this mad affair," said Anthony. "But if you will permit me, I will go for the young lady myself—stipulating only that I shall not be followed—and I will return her to your house before three o'clock this afternoon. After that, Dalton," said Anthony, drawing himself up, "I'm willing to take my medicine. I know that it's coming and I'm willing——"