As Professor Griffin had entered the door with his latch-key a hansom had drawn up at the kerb, and Frank, who had come straight from Charing Cross, after dropping his kit at his rooms, sprang out and ran up the steps to the porch to meet the elder man with a merry greeting.
His first inquiry had been of Gwen, but the Professor’s face told him that something was wrong, and they entered the hall together. Next moment, however, the maid rushed forward exclaiming: “Miss Gwen’s come home, sir. She’s upstairs.”
“Tell her we are here,” said her father, “and we’d like to see her at once.”
Then the two men walked into the dining-room, where, in a few brief sentences, the Professor explained to young Farquhar his daughter’s sudden disappearance.
Frank was quick to notice that the girl he loved had scarce dared to raise her eyes to his as she entered the room. The grey gown she wore, unrelieved by any touch of colour, served to accentuate the deadly pallor of her soft countenance. A change had been wrought in her—a great astounding change.
“Why, Gwen dear!” gasped her father. “What’s the matter? What has occurred?”
“Nothing, dad,” faltered the girl.
“That’s quite absurd, my child,” cried the elder man. “You’ve been absent from home all these days, and sent me no word! Something unusual must have occurred.”
“Nothing, dad dear—at least, nothing that I can tell you.”
Frank started, staring straight at her, utterly amazed at her response.