"Well, ma'am, it must 'a' been about nine o'clock that Clay he left last night. I recollect because—"
"It doesn't matter why. Where was he going?"
"To meet Mr. Bromfield at his club," said Kitty.
"Mr. Bromfield!" cried Beatrice, surprised. "Are you sure?"
"Tha's what Clay said," corroborated the husband. "Mr. Bromfield invited him. We both noticed it because it seemed kinda funny, him and Clay not bein'—"
"Johnnie," his wife reproved, mindful of the relationship between this young woman and the clubman.
"Did he say which club?"
"Seems to me he didn't, not as I remember. How about that, Kitty?"
"No, I'm sure he didn't. He said he wouldn't be back early. So we went to bed. We s'posed after we got up this mo'nin' he was sleepin' in his room till the paper come and I looked at it." Johnnie gave way to lament. "I told him awhile ago we had orto go back to Arizona or they'd git him. And now they've gone and done it sure enough."
Keen as a hawk on the hunt, Beatrice turned to her father quickly.
"I'm going to get Clarendon on the 'phone. He'll know all about it."