“I called at the house,” he replied, vouchsafing no further fact.
“And after that?” Max inquired, recollecting that tell-tale stain upon the woman’s bodice.
“I made inquiries in a number of likely quarters, without result.”
“And what’s your theory?” Max asked, looking him straight in the face, now undecided whether he was lying or not.
“Theory? Well, my dear fellow, I haven’t any. I’d like to hear yours. The doctor and his daughter have suddenly disappeared, as though the earth has swallowed them, and they’ve not left the least trace behind. What do you believe the real truth to be?”
“At present I’m unable to form any actual theory,” his friend replied. “There has either been foul play, or else they are in hiding because of some act of political vengeance which they fear. That not a word has come from either tends to support the theory of foul play. Yet if there has been a secret tragedy, why should the furniture have been made to disappear as well as themselves?” Then, after a pause, he fixed his eyes suspiciously upon Charlie, and added, “I wonder if the Doctor kept any valuables or securities that thieves might covet in his house?”
Rolfe shrugged his shoulders. Mention of that point in no way disturbed him.
“I have never heard Maud speak of her father having any valuable possessions there,” he said simply.
“But he may have done so, and a theft may have been committed!”
“Of course. But the whole affair from beginning to end is most puzzling. I wonder the papers didn’t get hold of it. They could have concocted lots of theories if it had become known.”