Colonel Lane gave several, but remarked bitterly: “If she meant to get away from me—her father—she would not go where I could easily find her. But send the wires.”
“And you and I will go and examine her room,” said Mrs. Barrimore.
The pretty bed-chamber of Phyllis was littered with odds and ends which a careless girl throws about, but there was no sign of packing. The bed had not been slept in. There was no letter to be found. Colonel Lane dropped into a chair and sat with his chin on his breast. Mrs. Barrimore laid a gentle hand on his, but he did not heed it.
Mrs. Ransom came in with some wine, but Colonel Lane waved her angrily away.
“Come home with me, dear,” whispered Mrs. Barrimore.
He rose and followed her like a child.
“Upon my word!” ejaculated Mrs. Ransom, as she saw them depart. “Miss Phyllis ought to be downright ashamed of herself!”
The answers to the telegrams came. No one had seen Phyllis.
Then Uncle Robert went to the police.
In the meantime Davis had given a spirited account of the “row” to Pickett, who had merely laughed.