"They were schoolfellows," said Elaine. "My father..." She stopped; it seemed as if every attempt to speak out or to explain entailed an almost superhuman effort, and as her mute appealing look was more than he could bear, Tom sat down by her side and took her white, trembling hands in his.
"Your father sent you here, did he not?" he said with emotion. "We know that your errand had some connection with those wooden dolls. Victor Dreyel is no more and, I daresay, Mrs. Toby has told you that his cousin has been badly wounded."
Elaine gave a melancholy little nod.
"Both dolls have been stolen. You must see that your errand is too hard for you to accomplish singlehanded; won't you trust yourself to us?"
As she made no answer he continued with some eagerness: "I am not thinking of myself, but I want you to understand about Maurice Wallion and who he is, the best helper you could have, if only you would confide in him...."
"Mrs. Toby has told me about him," replied the girl in a low voice; "Oh, yes, I owe a full explanation to you both ... I can't do anything more by myself." She rose, and withdrawing her hands from his, she cried:
"If only your friend will help me." The cry came from the depth of a burdened heart.
Neither of them had heard the bell or the opening of the door, but at that moment Mrs. Toby appeared and called Tom out.
Maurice Wallion, in traveling get-up, came forward smiling. They shook hands, and Tom's eyes looked searchingly for news.
"I have come direct from Gävle," said Wallion. "Aspeland also returned by the same train. We have had monstrous bad luck; the search has been carried on day and night ... without result."