“It was on Tuesday morning,” said Julie. “She came and woke me very early; she seemed to have been out, for she still wore her hat, and in her hand she had a black bag. After that she went away. I heard her moving about for some time, till at last she went downstairs and I heard the front door slam. I jumped out of bed and looked out of the window and saw her going down the street with a big bag in each hand. And I haven’t seen or heard anything of her since. But I am sure, oh, I know she did not mean to come back!”
“How do you know that?” Gimblet asked.
“I know it from what she said, and from what she did, before she went.”
“Won’t you tell me?”
Julie looked at him doubtfully.
“Bert—that is a friend of mine—tried to make me promise not to say anything about it, but I told him I should go to the police if I didn’t hear soon. And I feel I must tell some one, for something dreadful may have happened to her,” Julie added, half to herself. “Have you anything to do with the police?” she asked.
“Well, yes, I have, as a matter of fact; in an indirect way.”
“You will know what to do then, if I tell you. Bert doesn’t seem to know what to do; he only rages. Well, I think my mother has gone away for good, because, before she went, she got a man to come to the house and buy nearly every portable thing in it. There is hardly anything left besides these chairs and table, and my bed upstairs. Soon after she had gone they came and took away the things.”
“Did she leave you no money?”