Willy Cameron roused himself.
“Out?” he said incredulously. “Don't you know where she is?”
“No. And I don't care.”
Willy Cameron was fully alert now, and staring down at Dan.
“I'll tell you something, Dan. She probably saved my life to-night. I'll tell you how later. And if she is still out there is something wrong.”
“She used to stay out to all hours. She hasn't done it lately, but I thought—”
Dan got up and reached for his hat.
“Where'll I start to look for her?”
But Willy Cameron had no suggestion to make. He was trying to think straight, but it was not easy. He knew that for some reason Edith had not waited until midnight to open the envelope. She had telephoned her message clearly, he had learned, but with great excitement, saying that there was a plot against his life, and giving the farmhouse and the message he had left in full; and she had not rung off until she knew that a posse would start at once. And that had been before eleven o'clock.
Three hours. He looked at his watch. Either she had been hurt or was a prisoner, or—he came close to the truth then. He glanced at Dan, standing hat in hand.