"It is my father," she said simply. I was absurdly relieved.
But with the realization that I had not a case of desertion on my hands, I had to view the situation from a new angle.
"You are absolutely at a loss to account for his disappearance?"
"Absolutely."
"You have had no word from him?"
"None."
"He never went away before for any length of time, without telling you?"
"No. Never. He was away a great deal, but I always knew where to find him." Her voice broke again and her chin quivered. I thought it wise to reassure her.
"Don't let us worry about this until we are sure it is serious," I said. "Sometimes the things that seem most mysterious have the simplest explanations. He may have written and the letter have miscarried or—even a slight accident would account—" I saw I was blundering; she grew white and wide-eyed. "But, of course, that's unlikely too. He would have papers to identify him."
"His pockets were always full of envelopes and things like that," she assented eagerly.