Surprisingly, it was Mr. Thorstad who began.
“We are sorry to intrude upon you on this Sunday afternoon but our errand is pressing and it will be best to make it clear at once. My daughter has been employed in your office, Mr. Flandon.”
“Yes?”
“My wife came from Chicago to pay her a brief visit. She found that Freda had gone away, leaving no address with any one. We are very much concerned—greatly disturbed. My wife went at once to your office and there saw your partner—Mr. Sable, is it?” Gage inclined his head—“You were not there. I believe Freda was directly in your employ. Mr. Sable tells my wife that Freda resigned her place on Friday morning. Questioning him we find that she was asked to resign—that,” he paused and spoke with difficulty, though still calmly, “that rumors subversive to her character have been afloat. She has disappeared, Mr. Flandon.” The stoop in his shoulders had somehow straightened. He was as tall as Gage as he looked at him with restraint and yet with indictment. “Do you know where my daughter is, Mr. Flandon?”
He stopped. Mrs. Thorstad edged to the side of her chair, foot tapping nervously on the floor, eyes on Gage. Helen’s eyes were on him too, though there was no change in her attitude. She had not paled or flushed. It might have been the most casual of conversations.
The second before Gage’s answer weighed on all of them. He looked as if he were pondering something—then back at Mr. Thorstad. His voice was even and controlled.
“No, Mr. Thorstad, I don’t know where your daughter is.”
“Why did she leave your office?”
“She was discharged by my partner in my absence, most unjustly, for preposterous suspicions. I shall do my best to reinstate her.”
“It will not be necessary, sir.”