"Mr. Janney," she leaned toward him insistent, but with patience for his afflicted state, "I thought it had gone somewhere farther along. You know how they won't let the vehicles stand in Fifth Avenue. I supposed it was down the block or round the corner on a side street. I asked the doorman but he hadn't noticed. I looked in every direction and even when I finally gave up and went after her I hadn't an idea that she'd been stolen."
"Time lost—all that time lost!" wailed the old man and began to cry.
"Come, come, Mr. Janney," said Whitney, "don't despond. It's not as bad as all that, and I'm pretty confident we'll have her back all right before very long."
Mr. Janney, with his face in his handkerchief, emitted sounds that no one could understand. His wife silenced him with a peremptory, "Be quiet, Sam," and returned to Miss Maitland:
"You say you dissuaded her from going into Justin's. Why did you do that?"
For the first time the girl lost her even poise. As she answered her voice was unsteady: "We were so pressed for time and I knew I could get through much quicker without her. That's why I did it—begged her to stay in the taxi and she said she would,"—she stopped, biting on her under lip, evidently unable to go on.
There was a moment's silence broken by Mrs. Janney's voice low and grim:
"The man heard you and knew that was his chance."
Miss Maitland, her eyes down, the bitten lip showing red against its fellow, said huskily:
"You must blame me—you can't help it—but I'd rather have died than had such a thing happen."