“Mrs. Garrison,” said Westy, “we—we didn’t find her in the woods. Is there any news?”
“No, dear—you’re good boys, all of you,” she said, wringing her hands.
“We’ve got a police dog here,” said Westy, “and we know about her being in Westover’s field this afternoon. She cut across the field on her way to Stella Henry’s house—I know the path. Let’s have something that belonged—belongs to her, will you? A dress or something; stockings would be good.”
There was no chance to talk; he pinned her down to the vital requirement; and seeing them all, restless, ready, efficient, she hurried into the house and brought out some articles of clothing, weeping as if they belonged to some one dear, and lost indeed.
“You call up our houses and tell them,” said Westy hurriedly. “You know us all I guess—Blakeley, Van Arlen, Bennett, Benton, Harris, Carson and—that’s all. See you later.”
They were gone, Robin Hood dragging, pausing, dilly-dallying; his young master pulling, then running after him.
The field where little Margie had last been seen was a corner lot which afforded a short-cut to the door of the house next to it. It was known that she had called at that house for a girl friend and, not finding her at home, had cut through the lot again and entered the bordering street. No one had been found who had seen her after that.
It was in this field that Robin Hood took upon himself the responsibility of the search and became master of the situation.
CHAPTER XXVII
ACTION
And meanwhile the last of the passing clouds disappeared for Emerson Skybrow and the myriad stars shone pleasantly upon him, deep down in his black prison. He separated the strands of soaked hair which lay still upon the water and beheld a face which for the moment he did not recognize. The eyes were closed; the face, as near as he could tell in the starlight, mud-smeared and ashen pale. It looked ghastly, appalling, this face, with apparently no body connected with it. But Emerson presently realized how it was.