Indeed, Henry Dorning was at somewhat of a loss to understand the extreme havoc which the disappearance of Elise had wrought in Rodrigo Torriani. He knew that the friendship between John and Rodrigo was so close that the catastrophe which had befallen his son would be shared by his son's friend. But, after all, Rodrigo was a man of the world, of considerable experience in emotional crises. Why had another's tragedy now broken him up so savagely that he seemed upon the verge of a breakdown? Had not more vital matters been pressing, Henry Dorning would have liked to discover the answer to this question.
As for John Dorning, his mad search for his missing wife had, in the physical sense, terminated for the time being. It had now been two weeks since the fatal fire in the Van Clair. The wild rushing about and pursuit of false clews, the almost total loss of sleep and food had caused John's frail body and almost his strong mind, to snap definitely that morning. For days Rodrigo had been warning him, urging him to abandon the search temporarily, tried with everything in his power, except the uttering of the truth about Elise, to prevent John from becoming a second victim. That morning John had collapsed in Rodrigo's arms and lain in the latter's apartment unconscious. Rodrigo had summoned a doctor and revived his friend. On the physician's advice, he had brought the stricken man at top speed in his car to Henry Dorning's home in Greenwich.
"DO YOU REALLY WANT TO KNOW WHAT I THINK OF YOU?" MARY ASKED SOFTLY.
John had slumped, apparently more dead than alive, in the seat beside Rodrigo throughout that rapid ride. John's father and sister Alice, apprised in advance by telephone, had been awaiting their arrival. The tortured man, at last too weak to protest further, had been put to bed and the Dorning's family physician summoned.
The latter was now up with the sick man, as was Alice Pritchard. Henry Dorning and Rodrigo were at present waiting for the report upon John's condition.
"Hotchkiss is a long time about his examination," Henry Dorning said finally, breaking a long silence. He had been observing Rodrigo narrowly, and he thought perhaps occupying the Italian's mind with conversation might allay some of Rodrigo's evident nervousness. Otherwise he feared Dr. Hotchkiss might have another patient on his hands when he came downstairs.
Rodrigo nodded shortly.
"It is a blessing, in a way, that John has given out at last," Mr. Dorning went on seriously. "This break was bound to come. I could not stop his frantic search. Neither could you, I suppose. Now he will be kept quiet and will have a chance to recover." He was silent a moment, and then he asked suddenly, "Rodrigo, do you think Elise will ever be found?"