Nelson sprang up the steps hastily.
"I'll just take a look about," he said.
But it was not for the list he wanted to go up. He had a feeling that he must look about the apartment where she had last been as if its very walls must cry out and give him a clue to go by, some hope for his anguished soul that was all wrapped up in the little girl he had loved since childhood, the little girl about to step off into danger! What could he do about it?
But the room was in perfect order, as Marguerite's room always was, nothing about to tell any tales, save her little blue sweater, lying on the bed in a heap as if it had suddenly been cast aside. He stood for an instant in the doorway, looking around, walked to her desk and her bureau with a keen swift glance, went back toward the door. Pausing suddenly beside the bed, he picked up the soft little wool garment and laid it to his cheek, just an instant, like a caress, and dropping it, went out of the room and ran swiftly down the stairs.
"D'ya find it?" asked Mary noting triumphantly that he had no list in his hand.
"No, Mary, it wasn't there," he said. "Thank you. She must have forgotten it. I'll have to get along the best way I can without it."
"Well, if it turns up when I go to sweep, I'll phone you to the office, Mr. Nelson."
"Thank you, Mary, and by the way, they didn't say when they were returning, did they? Or give you an address? I might get her on Long Distance you know."
"No, they didn't say. M's Sheldon she did say that ef they decided to stay mor'na day ur so, she'd write and tell me what hotel they put up at. Ef she does, I'll phone ya, Mr. Nelson."
"All right, Mary. Thank you!" said Nelson Whitney, and closing the door behind him, went out into the street.