“All set,” grunted Coltfoot.
An elevated train was Annan’s choice. Preoccupied with the problem of Eris, he arrived at No. 3 Governor’s Place before he had solved it. He didn’t want to hustle her out. He couldn’t have her there at eight o’clock.
Letting himself into the little brick house with a latch-key, he glanced along the corridor that led into the dining-room, and saw Mrs. Sniffen in the butler’s pantry beyond.
“Hello, Xantippe,” he said; “how’s the minx?”
Mrs. Sniffen placed a cup of hot clam broth upon a tray.
“Mr. Barry,” she said in an oddly altered voice, “that child is sick. She couldn’t keep her breakfast down.”
“For heaven’s sake——”
“I made her some broth for luncheon. No use at all. She couldn’t keep it.”
“What do you suppose is the matter with her?” he demanded nervously.
“Starvation. That’s my idea, sir. She’s that bony, Mr. Barry—no flesh on ’er except ’er ’ands and face,—and every rib to be seen plain as my nose!”