Seated in his most comfortable chair was a slender girl of some eighteen summers. Her hair was dark; her eyes, of the eager sort, were brown. Drew had never seen her.
As he entered the room she sprang up.
“Where is he?” she demanded.
“He? Who? Why—” Drew was astonished.
“You have him locked up. They told me at the police station that you would know where he is. Where is he?” Her voice rose to a shrill note.
“Why, I—” Drew’s mind was in a turmoil. Who was this whirlwind? Whom did he have locked up? At that moment, no one.
He looked into those eager eyes. He studied those high cheekbones, that sensitive mouth, and read there the answer to at least one of his questions.
“Why! You—you are Newton Mills’ daughter.” He sat down quite suddenly. “He—he never told us—”
“That he had a daughter? He wouldn’t. He’s that way.” Her tone went cold.
“Sit down, won’t you?” Drew offered her a chair. “What’s your name?”