Dr. Hosmer too agitated to speak reached out and grasped the engineer’s hand, pressing it fervently.
At about that moment three men sat in the rear of Vorse’s saloon. The shades were drawn and the front part of the long room was dark. Only a dull light burned where they sat. They were talking in low tones, with long pauses, with worried but determined, savage faces––Vorse, Burkhardt, Sorenson.
“Where the devil is she, that’s what I want to know!” Burkhardt growled. “I’ve been over twice and looked through a window. Doc was there.”
“She’s in bed and asleep, probably,” Sorenson said.
“I don’t believe it. The old man would be in the sheets himself if that were the case. Didn’t I call up twice by ’phone too? She was out, they said.”
“Couldn’t do much with her father there, anyway. We’ve got to get the paper by soft talk,” Vorse commented. “I still half believe Martinez was lying when he said it had been in that old chair. She couldn’t have got to the office and away in the hour or two before he told without some one seeing her, and no one did so far as we can learn. We locked the door too the second time we went back and it hasn’t been opened since; and we were there ten minutes after our first visit when we 184 learned the papers weren’t among those in his pocket. I think he’s got it cached away somewhere still.”
“Then we’ll give him another dose of our medicine.”
“If I know anything about men, he told the truth,” Sorenson said.
“Well, if the girl has it, we’ve got to get it from her if I have to wring her neck to do it.” It was Burkhardt’s inflamed utterance.