“Go up, if you like, Mr. Whiting. But I can’t see any use in it. Kim’s room is exactly as it ought to be, there’s nothing upset or out of place. Only,—we had to break in to get in at all!”
“He must have left the room by some other door, then.”
“There is no other door.”
“Window?”
“All fastened with special catches. But, do go up, Mr. Whiting, you might chance on something that I overlooked. Hollis will show you the way. Now, I’m going to Elsie’s. It isn’t right not to tell her.”
“Shall I go, Henrietta?” Mrs. Webb asked, docilely.
“No, mother. I’d rather go alone. I’ll take the little car. Hollis, tell Oscar to bring it at once, and then do you take Mr. Whiting up to Mr. Kimball’s room.”
With her usual quiet efficiency, Henrietta set the wheels moving, and was ready, dressed for the street, when the car arrived.
She rode the few blocks down Park Avenue that brought her to Elsie Powell’s home, in a deep study.
She was marshalling and formulating her thoughts. Possessed of great mental concentration, she had her mind in order, so far as her knowledge allowed, when she reached her destination.