I pulled myself together as well as I could. “No, no, I’m all right, Mrs. Trevor. I’m all right. Just a stitch or something. But I wonder what has become of Miss Van Cleef? She was to be home at four o’clock. Do you know whether she was going on anywhere ease after the luncheon at Mrs. Fawcette’s?”
Mrs. Trevor stared at me, the shadow of a smile about her mouth. “Why, no, I don’t think so. I’m sure she wasn’t. I’ve been wondering myself what can have become of her. But I dare say she’ll turn up in a moment or so now. Has—has it been such a terribly long wait?”
I made amends for my rudeness then, assuring her that the afternoon had been delightful, and presently she ordered tea and I sat and talked about everything under the sun, the while I consumed tasteless nothings with a very dry mouth. For I was terribly anxious.
But time passed, the minute hand of the little Louis XV. clock on, the mantelpiece moved relentlessly on toward six o’clock, and Natalie did not come. Until at last I could wait no longer, whether I wanted to or not; for I had to keep my appointment with Moore.
By the time I left, Mrs. Trevor had grown anxious herself, and as the butler let me out, I heard my hostess calling Mrs. Fawcette’s number into the telephone.
All the way back to my apartment I kept trying to reassure myself. They had gone for a drive and the car had broken down. Natalie had met an old friend and had forgotten the time. There had been a fire near by. Anything might have happened to delay her. But it did no good. Mrs. Fawcette was a dangerous woman. I had plenty of evidence that she was mixed up with some sort of an organization outside the law. And Natalie had been in her house. However, I could do nothing about it until my affair of that night with Moore was settled.
I reached home at a quarter past six. Larry met me at the door with the news that a high-powered Bengal car, with an expert driver, was waiting for me around the corner, and that a comfortable old lounge suit and Larry’s own revolver, freshly oiled and loaded, were waiting for me on my bed. Efficiency was Larry’s middle name. Thank the Lord he could reason as well as play the fool.
I changed in five minutes, arguing with Larry the while. Romance was rampant in Larry, and he could not understand anybody who started out on an adventure without packing a gun. “Come now, sor, do but slip it in yer pocket. ’Tis maybe not likely ye’ll want it, but if ye do, ye’ll want it terrible bad. See, sor, it fits snug——”
“Get out with you, Larry, this isn’t the Wild West. Besides, I can’t afford to have the entire population about my ears, as they would be if I began shooting the thing off. I’m not coming to blows with any one to-night, anyway.”
Larry shook his head sadly. “Well, sor, I wish ye’d take it,” he said. In this instance and in another one, later, Larry’s instinct was a good deal better than my judgment.