“Have you any plans at all, dear?” she inquired.
“Yes. Lots. I’m going to do a lot of telegraphing as soon as I get the whole story. I was never so thankful before that I’d chosen the detective profession.”
“Have you had anything to eat?”
Mr. Gay smiled. “Now that you mention it, I don’t believe I have. You might fix me some coffee while you tell me just what happened.”
Freckles and Jane returned while Mr. Gay was eating his meal, but they had nothing to report. Hattie was sure that Tom could not be guilty; she believed that he was running away from his gambling debts. Nevertheless, she had consented immediately to a thorough search of the house and barn for the missing girl. Yet even Silky’s sharp nose could not find her.
The boy was delighted to find his father at home; he felt immediately that a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. For, like Mary Louise, he believed that his father could almost accomplish the impossible.
“We’re going over to the other shore after lunch—with Silky,” he said, “and hunt some more.”
“That’s right, Son,” approved Mr. Gay. “We’ll never give up till we find Mary Lou!”
None of the other searchers returned with any news all that afternoon. The day was hot and sultry, and to Mrs. Gay, interminable. Everything was so strangely quiet at the little resort; no radios played, no young people shouted to each other or burst into singing. Even the birds seemed hushed, as if they too sensed the tragedy of the usually happy little colony.
Late in the afternoon the four girls who were working at the Ditmars’ went into the river to cool off with a swim, and Mr. Gay decided to join them. But it was more like a bath than a swim, and nobody seemed to enjoy it.