CHAPTER XVI.
THE SEARCH.
"This is intolerable," muttered old Aaron Rockharrt, in a tone as who should say: "How dare Fate set herself to baffle me?"
He then took tablets and pencil from his pocket and wrote the following telegram:
Cozzens Hotel, West Point,
May ——, 18—
To M. Martin, Esq., Blank House, New York City:
Just received your dispatch. There has been foul play. Report the case at police headquarters. Set private detective on the track of the missing lady. Last seen at the gate of the Hudson River Railway depot, waiting for 7:30 a.m. train for West Point yesterday morning, but not seen on train. Give me prompt notice of any news.
Aaron Rockharrt.
He beckoned a waiter and sent the message to be dispatched from the office of the hotel.