“Must you go? I am sorry.” She rose and extended her hand. “I shan't be at home either night or I'd ask you to come and see me. But you are coming down to Truesdale soon, remember.”
“Yes,” said Harvey. “Good-by.”
He walked rapidly to the Washington Building. Jim had left no word, and Harvey called up the Ashland Avenue residence, but could learn nothing. The Northern Station master returned a similar report: Mr. Weeks had not been seen. Harvey sat down and rested his elbows on the desk. Already it might be too late. He called to mind Jim's business arrangements, in the hope of striking a clew by chance. He was interrupted by a few callers, whom he disposed of with a rush; and he was closing his desk with a vague idea of hunting Jim in person when he was called to the 'phone. It was the station master.
“I was mistaken, Mr. West,” he said. “Fourteen has just got in from Manchester, and he says he took Mr. Weeks out at noon.”
Harvey rang off and called up the M. & T. terminal station at Manchester.
“Hello. This is Chicago. Is Mr. Weeks there?”
“Well—say, hello! Hold on, central!—Will you call him to the 'phone, please?”
“Why not?”
“Where? At the shops?”
“Sorry, but I guess you'll have to interrupt him. Important business.”