“Now?”
“Yes, sir, I suppose so. Mr. Hale just said that he would like to see you,” and having delivered her message, Anna executed her bob of a courtesy and went her way.
John Hale walked back into his bedroom with a scowling face, and over to the divan where Frank Latimer lounged, smoking his inevitable cigarette.
“Robert’s sent for me,” he stated. “What do you suppose he is up to?”
Latimer dropped his cigarette in the smoking stand and stood up.
“Mrs. Davis told me, you recollect, that Polly had resigned her position as his secretary,” he reminded him. “Probably your brother has just received a note from her.”
“By Jove!” John Hale’s scowl vanished. “The note may give Polly’s address. Come on, Frank,” and he made for the door, followed in a more leisurely fashion by his companion.
“Didn’t your brother send word that he wished to see you alone?” he asked. “I thought I heard Anna tell you so.”
“She did, that’s true”—John Hale paused at the head of the staircase. “Wait for me, will you? I won’t be long. And then, if there is no address on Polly’s note, we’ll motor to Markham and see for ourselves if Polly is there or not.”
“But, look here—”