He caught his breath—he must get back to her. That was it. That was what the hurrying passers-by had called to him. Get back to her—what did the morning count until she became a part of it? It was because she had placed the red-blooded actuality of life before his eyes in contrast to the superficial picturesqueness of its expression as he had viewed it yesterday that the show had lost its vividness. She was making him see it again with eyes as they were at twenty. He recoiled. That way lay danger. He must put himself on guard. But from that moment he had but one object in mind—to get back to her as soon as possible.
A telephone message waiting him from Chung reported that no trace could be found of the boy.
He jumped into a cab and went at once to the Arsdale house. Miss Arsdale herself came to the door, her eyes heavy from lack of sleep but her face lighting instantly at sight of him.
"You have news?" she exclaimed.
"No," he answered directly.
She was a woman with whom one might be direct.
"No news may be good news," he added. "They have n't been able to locate him in Chinatown. I don't think there is a nook there in which he could hide from those people."
"Then," she exclaimed, "he has gone to Cranton."
"Then," he answered deliberately, "I will follow him there."
"No, I could n't allow you. It is two hours from town. You have already given generously of your time."