"Is that you, Norman? Please ask Tansy to come to the phone. I wish to speak to her."
The question was rapped out with precision, as if its wording had been carefully planned.
"I'm sorry, but she isn't in."
Evelyn Sawtelle did not sound surprised at the answer—her second question came too quickly. "Where is she then? I must get in touch with her."
He thought. "She's out in the country," he said, "visiting some friends of ours. Is there something I can tell her?"
"No, I wish to speak to Tansy. What is your friend's number?"
"They don't have a phone!" he said angrily.
"No? Well, it's nothing of importance." She sounded oddly pleased, as if his anger had given her satisfaction. "I'll call again. I must hurry now. Hervey is so busy with his new responsibilities. Good-by."
He replaced the phone. Now, why the devil—Suddenly an explanation occurred to him. Perhaps Tansy had been seen leaving town, and Evelyn Sawtelle had scented the possibility of some sort of scandal and had wanted to check. Perhaps Tansy had been carrying a suitcase.
He looked in Tansy's dressing room. The small suitcase was gone. Drawers were open. It looked as if she had packed in a hurry. But what about money? He examined his billfold. It was empty. Forty-odd dollars missing.