Henrietta Webb turned pale. “What nonsense!” she cried. “In that case, Elsie, are you smart enough to find him?” and with a suppressed exclamation, half shriek and half gasp, she ran from the room, and they heard her go downstairs to her mother’s room.
“Good!” cried Elsie. “I’m glad she’s gone! Excuse me, Mr. Hanley, but though she is his sister, I am Mr. Webb’s fiancée, and I have really more reason to want to find him than anybody else on earth. And I’m going to find him, too! But, first, can you form any theory? Can you make any suggestion?”
“I can’t. I’ve never seen a case that ran so hopelessly up against a blank wall. There’s foul play, somewhere,—that is, unless—you don’t think—”
Elsie read his thoughts.
“No, I don’t think Mr. Webb went away of his own volition. I know he did not! And quite aside from his love for me, and his wish to marry me yesterday, if those things hadn’t been so, Mr. Webb is too much of a gentleman, too kind-hearted a man, to go away and leave his mother and sister, to say nothing of myself, in this fearful predicament.”
“That’s right! No decent man could do such a sneak! Well, then as it’s perfectly clear you suspect Miss Webb of being complicated,—why do you?”
“I don’t want to say anything against Miss Webb. I’ve nothing to say against anybody. But,—oughtn’t a detective to suspect everybody? Or at least, to investigate the possibilities of every suspect?”
“Yes’m; that’s right. Never mind why. I’ll bear in mind that Miss Webb’s part in the matter must be inquired into. Any more hints?”
“Oh, that isn’t a hint. What sort of a detective are you, asking for hints? Why don’t you get busy? Hunt for clues, or something definite like that!”
“Clues? Why, it isn’t a murder!”