“Do you know what's become of my friend Davenport?” he asked, in a low tone.
“No. Hope he's well and all right. What makes you ask like that?”
“Haven't you read of his disappearance?”
“Disappearance? The devil! Not a word! I been too busy to read the papers. When was it?”
“Several weeks ago.” Larcher recited the main facts, and finished thus: “So if there isn't a mistake, he was last seen going into your hallway. Did he have a key to your room?”
“Yes, so's he could draw pictures while I was away. My hallway? Let's go and see.”
In some excitement, without waiting for partiallars, the farmer rose and led the way out. It was already quite dark.
“Oh, I don't expect to find him in your room,” said Larcher, at his heels. “But he may have left some trace there.”
Mr. Bud turned into the hallway, of which the door was never locked till late at night. The hallway was not lighted, save as far as the rays of a street-lamp went across the threshold. Plunging into the darkness with haste, closely followed by Larcher, the old man suddenly brushed against some one coming from the stairs.
“Excuse me” said Mr. Bud. “I didn't see anybody. It's all-fired dark in here.”