"Yes, sir." The old woman was eying him with eyes into which a positive fear was creeping, her lips trembling as she spoke. "You don't think anything has happened—"
"I don't know!" he cried, sternly. "Why didn't you let me know last night?"
"I didn't know what to do." The tears had actually sprung into her eyes. "I thought she must be all right. I thought mebbe she'd gone to Crawfordsville or to the Half Moon."
Conniston left her abruptly and hastened to the office.
"Tommy," he called, from the doorway, "do you know where Miss Crawford is? Where she went yesterday?"
"No. Why?" Garton, sensing from the other's tones that something was wrong, swept up his crutches and hurried forward.
"She left yesterday morning," Conniston told him, as he went to the desk and picked up the telephone. "She hasn't come back yet. Mrs. Ridley doesn't know anything about her." And to the operator:
"Give me the Crawford house. Quick, please! Yes, in Crawfordsville."
Upon the face of each man there were lines of uneasiness. Garton propped himself up against the desk and lighted a cigarette, his eyes never leaving Conniston's face.
"Can't you get anybody?" he asked, after a moment.