At City Hall, the chairman of the board of aldermen took the helm, becoming acting-mayor for the time being. Although he directed the search for the mayor and her secretary with much skill and patience, the Honorable Otis H. Mann was enjoying an inflated sense of independence, such as does not come often to a small man on large occasions.
As the day closed and no news came from the missing women, the excitement grew. Crowds gathered on the streets and squares, until someone, by a happy thought, called for a mass-meeting in Masonic Temple. If Gertrude could have heard the speeches made there, and noted the sympathy and pride of her townspeople, she would have felt her strength renewed as the eagle. For however they might have been divided in opinion before, every man, woman and child were solidly for her now. A great wave of indignation had swept the city, and left the public heart alive with love and sorrow for the brave young woman who had dared take up this burden. Although they talked hopefully and determinedly of perfecting their search and restoring her to her office, many a heart was cherishing a great fear that death, or worse than death, had already overtaken her.
"A terrible thing has befallen us," one of the speakers was saying. "And an awful state of affairs exists when the mayor of our own city can be completely swallowed up—and hidden from all pursuit—in an evening. When we remember that it is a woman—two women—of the highest breeding and inheritance who have been so foully dealt with, we are overwhelmed with a sense of disaster."
"But we must find a way—we must organize our forces," interrupted another. "They must, they shall be found."
There was much ardent talk, but little practical advice, and when Bailey Armstrong and John Allingham left the hall together, the hearts of both were heavy.
"I'd give all I've got in the world to find those two," said Bailey. "But between you and me, it looks pretty dark. There was something queer about it. Why should Gertrude go out at night alone? Why didn't she call on me to go with her? She often did, if no one else was going—from the house, I mean."
"Did you hear her say anything about an appointment?—or Miss Snow?" asked Allingham. "Evidently they had one."
"Not a word. I was in the office yesterday. We talked things over, some. I asked her—" Bailey stopped. "Say, she was going to telephone Newton Fitzgerald to come up. You don't suppose he's in it?"
"Let's go over to his saloon," said Allingham. "Here's a car coming now."
But when they got over there, Fitzgerald was declaiming loudly gainst the rotten politics of Roma.