"I will have to report this to the police," said the woman wearily. "No end of trouble. If you please, sir, I'll lock the door now."
"One moment!" I had been standing beside the writing desk, and my eye had caught a few words written on a sheet of letter paper,--the beginning of an unfinished letter. "Is this Mr. Barker's writing, do you know?"
The letter read:
"My Dear Wife:--So I have found my little runaway! Did she think that she could hide away from her hubby? Don't fool yourself, little one!"
Gertie had snatched the paper from my hand and read it with startled eyes. "I don't believe it," she said, violently. "That--is not his writing!" She flung the paper down, and left the room.
"What is it?" asked her mother, fretfully.
"An unfinished letter to his wife,--if it is his."
"We never knew much about him," she said, looking troubled. I could easily guess a part of the story that troubled her.
I had no excuse for further lingering, so I left Mrs. Barrows (she asked my name and gave me her own at parting) and went down to my office. Fellows was waiting for me, and it struck me at once that his manner was weighted with unusual significance.
"Well?" I asked. He always waited, like a dog, for a sign.