Judy had a threefold reason for being glad.
She had accomplished Jasper Crosby’s arrest, and except for a few bruises had suffered no ill effects from his frenzied choking.
In spite of doubts and suspicions as to the veracity of the prisoner’s story, part of it must be true. Judy even dared hope that they were near the end of their search for Irene.
Also she was glad that Peter Dobbs had wanted to kiss her. It would be a new confidence to tell Irene when she came home.
All of them were saying “when” now—Arthur and Horace were busy mapping out plans for the day. They telephoned back to Farringdon to find out if anyone had seen Irene. The telephone calls were expensive and brought nothing but disappointment.
Even Pauline Faulkner seemed impressed when she heard of the terrifying things that had happened.
“And here I was in school, not helping at all, but today,” she declared, “I’ll make up for it. There isn’t any more school until graduation and I’m free to help you. Emily Grimshaw’s work has waited so long that there must be a deluge of unread manuscripts.”
“It has waited so long that it can easily wait a little longer,” Judy said.
“But isn’t it important?”
“Not as important as finding Irene.”