"It's gone!" he cried.
[CHAPTER XIII—A PUZZLING WARNING]
"Whatever happened to you last night, Son?" exclaimed Mrs. Forrester.
Forrester had just strolled into the dining room, late for the one o'clock Sunday dinner. The excitement of the incident at the tree, together with the strange occurrence related to him by Green, had caused Forrester a sleepless night. It was nearly dawn when he had finally fallen asleep and in his state of nervous and physical exhaustion he had not again awakened until just in time to dress for dinner.
"It seems to me, Bob," observed Josephine, "that of late it has become quite an event when you honor us with your company."
"You apparently forget," returned Forrester, testily, as he sat down, "that I have had something more important on my mind this last week than regular attendance at meals and dances."
"No, Bob," smiled Josephine, "I had not overlooked the great event that has come into your life during the past week. It is a well-known fact that a man in love usually loses his appetite. I have not told Mother before, but the last time I saw you, you were engaged in an earnest conversation with Miss Sturtevant. When you disappeared so completely I concluded that she had probably sent you forth to tilt with windmills."
"I gather from your words, young lady," retorted Forrester, "that you look upon me as a modern combination of Don Juan and Don Quixote. Let me inform you that I am neither of these—but simply a re-incarnation of M. Lecoq, the great detective."
"This repartee bewilders me and does not answer my question," declared Mrs. Forrester. "We missed you right after dinner last night, Bob, and Diana asked for you several times. She said that she had not had one dance with you—not even a word except a formal 'good-evening' when you arrived."
"If you have forgotten, Mother, at least Josephine must remember that last night was the night on which I was to place that extortion money in the big oak in Jasper lane."