Colonel Morehead removed his glasses and polished them upon his handkerchief before answering:
"I was busy looking up somebody else," he said, and Leslie saw that the smile had left his face as he resumed his tap-tapping on the table with his fingers; she saw, too, that her father's face was a bit white where the skin showed. He looked tired, but his thick Van Dyke bristled aggressively, and his eyebrows breathed the usual defiance.
"Where were you, Leslie, that we couldn't find you anywhere?" demanded her step-mother, irritably. "How did you get home?"
"Very comfortably in the limousine, thank you," replied Leslie. "Mr. Beekman was good enough——"
Colonel Morehead leaped to his feet.
"Not Eliot Beekman! What? He came home with you?" He started for the door. "Why, he's the man I've been looking for. Where is he now?"
"Undoubtedly home, by this time," said Leslie.
The Colonel again reseated himself and drummed loudly with his fingers.
"Hang it!" he ejaculated. "If I'd only known.... He could have been with us here now. We need him—and badly."