“What old friend was here, Sybil?”
“It was Mag. You remember her?”
In spite of his coolness the detective started.
“Yes,” continued the woman called Sybil, “Mag was here, and bade me good-by. She’s going off. What’s happened, Mr. Carter? Mag wouldn’t explain.”
“Where did she go, Sybil?” asked the detective, paying no attention to the woman’s query.
“She did not tell me. But I never saw Mag in just the way she was. She said she was tired of life, tired of pulling other people’s chestnuts out of the fire, and now and then she acted like a person on the verge of insanity. She may have gone to the river, for once or twice she mentioned it in despairing tones.”
“How long has she been gone?” eagerly questioned the detective.
“Barely twenty minutes.”
“I’ll see you later, Sybil,” cried the detective, turning to the door. “I must find Mag, if possible.”
“She’s Nora now, you know.”