THE SEARCH BEGINS FOR THE LOST SISTER
There was nothing in Miss Masters’ manner after Druce had made his hasty departure to indicate that she felt any thrills of triumph over the completeness of the dive keeper’s rout. On the contrary she seemed unaccountably depressed. She sat down at her typewriter thinking deeply. Presently her meditations were disturbed.
The door opened quietly. A man entered who, in spite of the shabbiness of his clothing, his emaciation and the haggardness of his features the reader would have had no difficulty in recognizing. He was Harvey Spencer. He stood in the open door looking at the girl uncertainly. She took him in in a glance.
“Good morning,” she said sympathetically. “You are looking for someone here?”
“I was,” replied Harvey enigmatically, “but he’s gone.”
“Gone?” repeated the girl.
“Yes,” replied the caller quickly, “perhaps you can give me some information. That man, who stepped in here a moment ago—you know who he is?”
“Yes,” replied the girl, “his name is Martin Druce.”
“That’s his name, yes—what’s his business?”
“Live stock, he says,” replied Miss Masters in some surprise.