As they were passing the entrance to the dining room they encountered Mrs. Tremaine and Ida Silsbee coming out.
“We couldn’t wait for the rest of you,” confessed Mrs. Tremaine. “We’ve lunched. But—what on earth——?”
“Oliver Dixon,” spoke Tom, in a cautious undertone, “has presented a note for fifty thousand dollars at the bank, with Mr. Tremaine’s endorsement forged on the note. It is feared he has gotten away with the money.”
Joe, not caring to lose any time, had darted on ahead.
“Why—I—I—never believed him such a scoundrel,” gasped Mrs. Tremaine, paling. She sank into a chair, trembling.
“The villain had the audacity, last night, to ask me to marry him,” murmured Ida, in a low tone, clenching her hands tightly.
“I know it,” confessed Tom, bluntly. “I was in that room, behind the draperies. I meant to reveal myself, but it was all out, and you two turned from the room before I could decide what to do. Oh, I felt miserably ashamed of myself for my eavesdropping.”
“You couldn’t help it, and you needn’t be ashamed,” retorted Ida Silsbee. “Tom, I’m heartily glad I had a witness to my good judgment.”
“I’ve got his trail,” called Joe, softly, running back to join them. “Dixon left twenty-five minutes ago, on a train going out from the spur at this hotel.”
“Then he must have gone to Port Tampa,” breathed Tom, tensely.