"Mr. Norcross hasn't shown up at Mr. Chadwick's Chicago offices?" I ventured.
"No. The telegraph people have been wiring everywhere and can't get any trace of him."
"Tell them to try Galesburg. That's where his people live."
"I know," he said; and he made a note of the address on the back of an envelope. Then he came at me again, on the "direct," as a lawyer would say.
"You've been closer to Norcross in an intimate way than any of us, Jimmie: haven't you seen or heard something that would help to turn a little more light on this damnable blow-up?"
I hadn't—outside of the one thing I couldn't talk about—and I told him so, and at this he let me see a little more of what was going on in his own mind.
"You're one of us, in a way, Jimmie, and I can talk freely to you. I'm new to this neck of woods, but the major tells me that the Hatch crowd is a pretty tough proposition. Mrs. Macrae goes farther and insists that there has been foul play of some sort. You say you weren't present when Hatch called on Norcross at the office that night?"
"No; I came in just after Hatch went away."
"Did Norcross say anything to make you think there had been a fight?"
"He told me that Hatch was abusive and had made threats—in a business way."