“Hardly,” Mrs. Davis smiled in open amusement. “She left for Markham only this morning.”
“In that case it looks as if I shall have to wait until to-morrow,” Latimer’s voice was rueful. “I wish that I had asked John Hale to tell Miss Polly last night that I wished to engage her as my secretary.”
“John did not see Polly last night.” A faint hardness crept into Mrs. Davis’s softly modulated tone. “She worked very late at the Hales’”—she hesitated, looked up, and caught his sympathetic expression. “Oh, Mr. Latimer, I cannot help feeling that Polly sees too much of the Hales—thinks too much of them and their interests—they are so cold-blooded—so calculating. I wish”—and her voice choked with feeling—“I wish that she had been dead before she ever saw John Hale.”
Latimer regarded Mrs. Davis steadily. “John is a good fellow,” he protested, “a loyal friend and a devoted admirer of your daughter.” He studied her covertly. “Much more so than Austin—”
“Ah, there you are wrong”—Mrs. Davis stopped and cast a frightened look about the room. “Poor Austin, I cannot realize that he has gone from us. He was so full of life, so anxious to succeed—his death is a tragedy.”
“And a mystery,” supplemented Latimer dryly.
“A mystery indeed.” Mrs. Davis raised a small perfumed handkerchief to her dry eyes. “My heart goes out to the Hales, they have much to endure.” Latimer stared—she was expressing somewhat contradictory views about the Hale family almost in one breath. She moved closer to him. “Have the police discovered any fresh clews?”
“Not to my knowledge.” Latimer edged toward the hall door. He dared not linger, every extra moment might bring John Hale in search of him. “Suppose you write to your daughter, Mrs. Davis, and I will also send her a note within the hour. If you have word from her will you promise to let me know at once?”
“Certainly.” Mrs. Davis accompanied him to the front door. “I feel sure Polly will gladly accept your offer. How soon would you wish her to commence work?”
“Immediately.”