Owen glared at the real-estate man. He knew that Sammis was close-fisted, but he could not imagine any man refusing such a slight favor to an employee as faithful and industrious as Dallas had always been.
“And you wouldn’t let her have the money?” he exclaimed scornfully.
“No; I told her that I couldn’t see my way clear to do so. You see, I’ve had heavy expenses lately, and, anyway, I have——”
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Mr. Sammis,” Sheridan interrupted hotly. “Whatever that poor little girl has done, in her desperation, you’re responsible for.”
He strode indignantly out of the place, more discouraged than ever. Matters were getting worse and worse. Everything seemed to point to Dallas’ guilt.
He went once more to the girl’s boarding house, hoping against hope that he might find her there, although he knew very well that his errand would be in vain.
“Heard anything from Miss Worthington?” he inquired of the landlady.
“Nothing at all, Mr. Sheridan. There was somebody from her place of employment inquiring about her half an hour ago. Ain’t it queer that she should have disappeared like this?”
“I’d like to go upstairs to her room,” said Owen, an idea suddenly striking him.
“Well, I don’t know about that, Mr. Sheridan,” said the landlady. “It seems to me it would scarcely be proper——”