“No,” said Brant.
And as he volunteered no further information, the chief clerk dropped the subject and took up another.
“I suppose you will keep on hunting for Will Langford?”
“I shall; if he hasn’t already turned up at home. I asked Dorothy to send me a line this morning, and if he is still missing I shall keep on till I find him.”
“All right; I’m with you. Let me know what she says, and I’ll do what I can to help. I shall be too busy to do much through the day, but after supper I’ll be yours to command again.”
Dorothy’s note came just before noon. She had been delayed by the difficulty of finding a trustworthy messenger, she wrote. Her brother had not returned, and the situation at home was most trying. Her mother was sick with anxiety, and her father would hear to nothing less harsh than the turning of the matter over to the police. Mrs. Hobart had not been told; and, altogether, the household was in a most grievous state. Wouldn’t Mr. Brant send her a line of encouragement?
Brant would, and did; sat down at once to indite it, ringing first for a messenger, so that no time should be lost.
“I was not able to find William last night,” he wrote, “but I have every reason to believe that he is alive and well; indeed, I may say that I have had speech with a person who saw him as recently as nine o’clock this morning. From this person, and from some circumstances connected with her sight of him, I have obtained a clew to his whereabouts—no, not quite that, either; but I know what he is doing and what company he is keeping. Owing to the peculiar nature of the affair, this clew can not be followed up until to-night; but again I say, be of good cheer, and by all means dissuade your father from calling in the police. This would merely complicate matters, and it would doubtless prove disastrous to any hopeful future for your brother.”
After this note was signed, sealed, and despatched, Brant drowned the remainder of the day in hard work over the drawing-board. It was the best antidote for impatience, and, since his task chanced to be more or less mechanical, he was able to lay his plans for the evening as he wrought. Following out the theory verified by Mary McCarthy’s answers, the mystery of William Langford’s disappearance was easily accounted for. Harding had doubtless broken his parole and returned to Denver. He had managed in some way to get hold of young Langford, and, with the help of the bottle imp, to turn the boy into a house-breaker.
Just how the cautious fugitive from justice could bring himself to trust the lad with the information necessary to an intelligent search for the papers was unexplainable. But that it had been done was beyond question.