Colonel MacAndrew and his wife uttered expressions of incredulity, and Mrs. Strickland sprang to her feet.
“Do you mean to say you never saw her?”
“There’s no one to see. He’s quite alone.”
“That’s preposterous,” cried Mrs. MacAndrew.
“I knew I ought to have gone over myself,” said the Colonel. “You can bet your boots I’d have routed her out fast enough.”
“I wish you had gone over,” I replied, somewhat tartly. “You’d have seen that every one of your suppositions was wrong. He’s not at a smart hotel. He’s living in one tiny room in the most squalid way. If he’s left his home, it’s not to live a gay life. He’s got hardly any money.”
“Do you think he’s done something that we don’t know about, and is lying doggo on account of the police?”
The suggestion sent a ray of hope in all their breasts, but I would have nothing to do with it.
“If that were so, he would hardly have been such a fool as to give his partner his address,” I retorted acidly. “Anyhow, there’s one thing I’m positive of, he didn’t go away with anyone. He’s not in love. Nothing is farther from his thoughts.”
There was a pause while they reflected over my words.