“Oh, take your hands off me,” I said. “She’s up there all right. Maybe she’s hiding behind the door to surprise you!”
Well, he ran up again, and we followed him. But he was right. Emmie’s room was empty; her bed was neatly made up, and all the bottles on the table beside it had been cleared away. We could only stand and stare, while Will Hartford ran like a lunatic from room to room, peering into the closets and behind the doors, and moaning all the time.
“Emmie,” he called over and over. “Emmie! It’s Will! It’s Will, darling!”
I tried to calm him and tell him she was not hanging up in a cupboard like an old coat, but he only turned on me savagely.
“Where’s that woman?” he cried. “Where’s Letitia Carberry? I didn’t trust her from the start, and Emmie didn’t either. She has murdered my poor girl. Murdered her and done away with her!”
What could we say, or do? We had to stand by and see him run down the stairs; to hear him call the local police and accuse our poor Tish of a heinous crime, and later on to remain helpless while the officers searched the house and the cellar, and even dropped a searchlight down into the well. And still no Tish. They would not even let us leave the house to search for her, although I did manage to get Charlie Sands on the telephone before they stopped me.
“Come at once,” I said. “We are in terrible trouble.”
“Naturally,” he said, without excitement. “Shall I bring bail money or a doctor?”
But I could hear him whistle softly when I told him that Tish was accused of a murder.
It was seven o’clock by that time and growing dark. Waiting by a window, we watched for our poor Tish, but time went on and she did not come. Eight o’clock. Nine. Ten. Never once did our loyalty waver, but, on the other hand, what about the past four days? What about that locked door into Emmie’s room and the trays that went up, while Tish ate nothing at the table? What about that horrible scream and Tish’s strange pallor afterward?