“Yes,” glumly. “Sorry to have disturbed you, Mr. Clymer; good night,” and Clymer's echoing, “Good night” sounded faintly as he hung up the receiver.
“Drew blank,” he announced, turning to Ferguson. “Confound you, Ferguson; you had no right to touch the papers in my safe. If harm comes from it, I'll make you suffer,” and not waiting for the detective's jumbled apologies and explanations, he hurried from the building. But once on the sidewalk he paused for thought. McIntyre must have picked up the white envelope, there was no other feasible explanation of its disappearance. But what had attracted his attention to the envelope—the red seal with the big letter “B” was its only identifying mark. If Helen had only told him the contents of the envelope!
Kent struck his clenched fist in his left hand in wrath; something must be done, he could not stand there all night. Although it was through no fault of his own that he had lost the envelope entrusted to his care, he was still responsible to Helen for its disappearance. She must be told that it was gone, however unpleasant the task.
Kent walked hastily along Pennsylvania Avenue until he came to a drug store still open, and entered the telephone booth. He had recollected that the twins had a branch telephone in their sitting room; he would have to chance their being awake at that hour.
Barbara McIntyre turned on her pillow and rubbed her sleepy eyes; surely she had been mistaken in thinking she heard the telephone bell ringing. Even as she lay striving to listen, she dozed off again, to be rudely awakened by Helen's voice at her ear.
“Babs!” came the agitated whisper. “The envelope's gone.”
“Gone!” Barbara swung out of bed.
“Gone where?”
“Father has it.”
Downstairs in the library Mrs. Brewster paused on her entrance by the side of a piece of carved Venetian furniture and laying her coronation scarf on it, she examined a white envelope—the red seal was intact.