Tavia shot her a laughing glance that was still shrewd and far-seeing.
“She wouldn’t thank you for it, Doro, my dear,” she said, with a hint of sadness underlying the light words. “Ma never allows any one to interrupt her afternoon siesta. Anyway,” she added, dismissing the subject as a taxicab rolled up to the door, “I left word about you in the note—said you left regrets and all that sort of thing. Come on, Doro, make it snappy.”
Dorothy sighed as she handed her grip to Nat and slowly followed the flyaway Tavia to the cab. There were times when she wished Tavia would not use so much slang and always be in such a tremendous hurry. It wore on one’s nerves occasionally.
Once in the cab Dorothy sank back in a corner while Nat and Tavia conversed in low tones. She was thinking of Joe and what must be her first action upon reaching The Cedars.
She would go down town, of course, to inspect Haskell’s store, or what remained of it. She would talk to people in the neighborhood and find out if any one had seen Joe in that vicinity at the time of the fire.
But surely no one could have seen him! Joe could have had nothing to do with that catastrophe! Dorothy thrust the horrid thought from her mind, only to have it return again with the question: Then how explain Joe’s mysterious disappearance, and just at that time, too?
Perhaps the boy had been hurt. Perhaps they had taken him to a hospital where they had been unable to identify him.
She spoke this thought aloud, and Nat immediately put her fears to rest, on that score at least.
“The first thing the Major did was to ’phone the North Birchlands Hospital and two or three others in the vicinity,” he said. “They had brought in no one remotely answering Joe’s description.”
“Then where is he?” cried Dorothy desperately.