Mrs. Douaine hesitated.
“I scarcely think it likely,” she said. “What possible object could any German have in doing such a thing? I will tell Percy when he comes in, though, and he will do what he thinks best about informing the police. We must not keep anything back that may prove a possible clue. Of course, it is possible that Gretel might have met some old German friend of her father’s, and not mentioned the fact to any one, but I don’t for a moment believe it had the slightest connection with what has happened.”
“I suppose we shall have to tell everything,” sighed Geraldine, “but I can’t bear to have people saying and thinking horrid things about Gretel.”
“My dear,” said Mrs. Douaine, gently, “when we know a thing to be untrue ourselves, why should we mind what foolish people may say? We know positively that Gretel did not go away on purpose, that whatever happened was through no fault of hers, so let us try to forget all the unkind things people may say, and just keep on hoping and praying all the time. What is it, Dora?”
“A lady to see you, ma’am,” announced Dora in the doorway. “I told her you couldn’t see anybody, but she seems awful upset and says she must see either you or Mr. Douaine. I think”—lowering her voice—“I think she’s German.”
“Show her up,” said Mrs. Douaine, with sudden eagerness. “It may be a clue,” she added to Geraldine, as Dora left the room.
There was a moment of silence; then the sound of approaching footsteps.
“I’ll go and meet her,” Mrs. Douaine said, rising, but before she could reach the door, the visitor was already on the threshold.
“Fräulein!” cried Geraldine, springing to her feet, “why, it’s Fräulein.” And she hurried forward, both hands outstretched.
Fräulein it was, but a Fräulein so changed—so pale and agitated that it really was surprising that Geraldine should recognize her in that first moment.