“Fine talk, Cousin Elsie,” the young man said, smiling, “but you won’t last out. Let me see, Mr. Webb has been missing three days now,—isn’t it?”
“Yes; three days, now.”
“And you have three months in which to find him,—you see I know the main facts. Well, I hate to be discouraging, but I don’t believe you’ll ever see that man again,—and you may as well begin to pick his successor.”
“I started out by liking you, Joe, but you’ve changed my attitude,” Elsie exclaimed, her cheeks flushing with anger. “How can you speak like that?”
“I’m a hardheaded Westerner, Elsie, and I look things square in the face. It’s out of all thinking that Webb was kidnapped! Such things aren’t done! And, too, how could it be possible?”
“How could his departure be possible, anyway?”
“Far easier, if he went of his own accord, than if he were forced to go against his will. In fact, my girl, you must see that he couldn’t have been taken unwillingly. Granting the mystery of the locked room, it can be,—it must be explained in some way,—but, only if Webb went away of his own volition. You must see that?”
“I do,” declared Gerty, “and Elsie does too, only she won’t admit it.”
“I don’t,” Elsie denied; “but I refuse to discuss the subject at all. I find it does no good. Nothing does any good! Here, three days have passed; a detective has done his best,—and it amounted to nothing at all! Two of my friends,—Mr. Whiting and Mr. Harbison have done their best,—and it has amounted to nothing at all; Kimball’s mother and sister have done their best—”
“Are you sure of them?” Allison broke in; “I mean, are you sure they are hunting him,—or, are they foxy enough—”