“Good Lord!” cried Herold, with a flash of memory, “so there was! From Lady Blount.”
“Do you know what was in it?” she asked quickly.
“Lady Blount told me. She said that Stellamaris was very ill, going to die,—an alarming letter,—and begged him to go down at once.”
“And he went out, but he did n't go down,” said Unity.
Their eyes met, and the same fear froze them. “Did you look—”
“No; how could I? The drawer was locked.”
“It must be broken open,” said Herold.
The man-servant came in to ask whether he should pay and dismiss the waiting driver of the taxi.
“Yes,” said Herold, after a moment's reflection. “And, Ripley, you might telephone to Mr. Bowers of Temple Chambers and say that I'm detained; that I don't know whether I 'll be able to come at all.”
It was impossible to transact business beneath this lowering cloud of tragedy. The men of money could wait till John was found, dead or alive. Suddenly he remembered that a taxicab was the one thing necessary. He recalled Ripley.