The door swung open. Bob handed his burden over to Mrs. Presby.
"She's played out. Better put her to bed. What's wrong?"
"No, no, no!" protested Ruth. "Give me a drink of something hot. I—I'm chilled through." She staggered to one side of the hall, waved assistance aside and leaned against the wall with closed eyes for a few seconds. Then Ruth straightened up suddenly.
"Bab! Have they found her?" she cried.
Mrs. Presby shook her head. Grace came running down the hall. She threw herself into Ruth's arms.
"Oh, Ruth! Mollie's gone, too!" she sobbed.
"What's this?" demanded Stevens. "Tell me quickly what has occurred."
Mrs. Presby told him very briefly all that she knew about the series of disasters that had befallen them. The hall was fairly well filled with neighbors, all more or less helpless. With bulging eyes and open mouths, they were listening and gaping without doing anything on their own account.
Bob dashed toward the stairs without asking another question. Neighbors, the Presbys and the three girls followed him. Mr. Presby was the last in line. He thumped up the stairs with the aid of his stick. Bob had halted near the door of the attic, where he stood surveying the room with critical eyes.
"Get lights! It's dark here," he directed sharply. "Now tell me just what occurred as far as you know, please. Who discovered the loss of Miss Thurston and her sister?"