“What’s the matter?” demanded Staff, deeply concerned.
“You ask me that!” said Iff impatiently. He threw himself at length upon the divan. “Haven’t you been to the St. Simon? Don’t you know what has happened? Well, so have I, and so do I.”
“Well ...?”
Iff raised himself on his elbow to stare at Staff as if questioning his sanity.
“You know she’s gone—that she’s in his hands—and you have the face to stand there and say ‘Wel-l?’ to me!” he snapped.
“But—good Lord, man!—what is Miss Searle to you that you should get so excited about her disappearance, even assuming what we’re not sure of—that she decamped with Ismay?”
“She’s only everything to me,” said Iff quietly: “she’s my daughter.”
Staff slumped suddenly into a chair.
“You’re serious about that?” he gasped.
“It’s not a matter I care to joke about,” said the little man gloomily.