"What sort of a looking woman is she?" Duvall inquired.
"Oh—a rather insignificant looking girl of about twenty-five. Small, slender, not very prepossessing, but clever—enormously clever. One of the best film cutters we have. I should be sorry to lose her."
"Light blue eyes, and light hair," Duvall questioned. "And a thin, rather cruel mouth?"
"Exactly. But why? Has she gotten into any trouble?"
"No—I hope not. I merely wanted to see her."
"Well—of course she may show up later, although as I say she has usually been very punctual. I shouldn't be surprised if she is sick. She's been acting rather peculiarly, the past few days."
"How so?" asked Duvall, quickly.
"I can't say—exactly. I got the impression from her manner that she was nervous, excited, out of sorts. Merely an impression, but such things count."
"Telephone me, Emmett," Mr. Baker said, "if she comes in during the next hour. Come along, Mr. Duvall, you can wait in my office."
They returned to the other side of the immense building, and Duvall sat down to wait. He felt sure that they were on the right track, and was impatient to get back to New York and try to locate the missing woman. The description given by Mr. Emmett left little doubt in his mind that she and Miss Marcia Ford were one and the same. He sat in Mr. Baker's office, reading the paper, waiting anxiously for the hour the latter had specified to pass.