With a letter from one of the police commissioners and a minute description of Bertha at her tongue's end, Emily had passed from office to office, braving discourtesy and even insult. As this was the busy season her truancy from the studio would have to be made up by lamplight work, which meant ache to her weary eyes, and the unwonted climbing of stairs and trudging about for hours soon exhausted her small stock of strength. But Emily was less concerned over her personal sacrifice than over the failure of her inquiries. By 4 o'clock her task was still uncompleted. The rounds of the offices had not been half-made. Still no Bertha could be found, no girl answering her description or dressed as Bertha had been dressed at the trial having applied for work on the previous day. With a cloud of despondency forming over her heart, only lightened by a dim hope of consolation from Shagarach, she had turned her steps in the direction of his office when John Davidson overtook her.
"Not to be found!" echoed the marshal.
"When was she seen last?" inquired Shagarach, calmly.
"The evening of the trial," answered Emily. "She hasn't returned to her aunt's, where she was lodging, since then."
"Why, I saw the girl talking with McCausland," said Davidson.
"When?" asked the lawyer.
"Tuesday evening. Everybody else had gone and Miss Barlow and I were alone in the ante-chamber. McCausland put his head in, as if he wanted the room, and I noticed two women behind him. One was the housemaid and the other was——"
"Mrs. Arnold?"
"True enough. 'Twa'nt no need to tell you, was it?"
The marshal's eyes grew big with admiration.