In the brief pause which followed, Barry stood there the picture of amazement. What in the world could Mrs. Wilmerding want with him? He did not know her—had never seen her. She was not the sort of woman to give her personal attention to such trivial matters as an invitation to call or to take dinner, anyway. Was it possible that anything had happened to——
"Mr. Lawrence!"
The name came snapping over the wires with the force of a pistol shot, and made Barry jump.
"Yes!" he gasped. "This is Mr. Lawrence."
"Get a taxi and come to my house at once. Do you understand?"
Barry flushed a little at the peremptory tone, coming as it did from a woman he fancied he disliked so greatly.
"But I am just dressing for dinner," he expostulated, trying with not much success to make his tone cool and dignified.
"Dinner!" snapped the voice. "What's that to me? Go without your dinner, as I shall. My niece is gone!"
Lawrence felt an odd pounding in his head which made him certain that he could not have caught her meaning.
"Gone?" he repeated dazedly. "Where?"