of it."
Fred Crane looked at her. "Sensibly spoken, Leila!" he said; "but how shall we go about an investigation? What can we do, more than has been done?"
"Nothing has been done. To ask two or three servants to look over the place is not investigating. Some one must take the lead, but surely I am not the one to do it."
As head of the house, in Arnold's absence; Miss Wadsworth was looked to for directions or suggestions. But the poor lady had no suggestions to offer.
Ernest Chapin, as confidential secretary of the missing man, seemed next in authority, but, like Miss Abby, he was agitated and unnerved at the situation. Most of the time he sat with head bowed, as if deeply depressed, and when spoken to he looked up with a start, and his face expressed a horror of uncertainty that seemed to add a deeper tone to the tragedy—if tragedy there were.
Dorothy Duncan persisted in treating the matter lightly. "I know Justin better than any of you," she said; "and I know just what he would do and what he would not do. And I know that he would not do any of the absurd things that you people seem to think he has done. He would not sneak out of his house at night, either with or without the assistance of his servants, knowing that it would throw all of us into this state of wonder and dismay. He would be too considerate of Miss Wadsworth and of—of myself, to do such a thing!"
Chapter IX.
Not Found
"Then, where is he?" spoke up Fred Crane crisply.
"I don't know where he is; but I know he is on some perfectly plausible and commonplace errand. He has probably been delayed, but he will return shortly, and as soon as he possibly can."
Fred Crane was a little disconcerted at this rational way of looking at the matter, for already he had pictured himself doing clever detective work in what gave promise of being a mystery, if not a tragedy.
Somewhat reassured by Dorothy's practical remarks, Miss Wadsworth began to reason. "I really agree with you, Dorothy," she said, "or, rather, I should do so if I did not know far better than you do, my child, about the positive efficiency of the burglar-alarm. Why, once I went downstairs, one hot summer night, and unfastened and opened a library window. Scores of electric bells whirred all over the house, and the servants seemed fairly to spring up out of the floor, they collected so rapidly! I think with you that Justin did get out somehow, but not unless that alarm had been turned off."
Fred Crane put on his thinking-cap at this. Could it be that Miss Wadsworth suspected Driggs's veracity. But he hardly dared even hint at this, so he rather cleverly made another suggestion.
"As so much seems to hinge on the evidence of that burglar-alarm," he said, "why not send for an electrical expert of the right sort, and let him examine it?"
"That is a fine idea!" exclaimed Miss Abby, who really had been forced to let a suspicion of Driggs creep into her mind, though she fought against it.
"And if I may make a suggestion," said Mrs. Duncan, in her quiet way, "I propose that we send for Mr. Arnold's physician. I can't help thinking that Justin may have had a stroke of some sort, and be unconscious and helpless even now. His doctor could tell us if he were subject to anything of the sort."
"I know he isn't subject to anything of the sort," said Miss Abby thoughtfully, "but I think yours is a good idea, Mrs. Duncan. We will send for Doctor Gaspard, and at least he can tell us if he ever feared anything like that for Justin. Let us also send for an electrical expert, or whoever it is that examines complicated machinery. Who would such a man be? Do you know, Mr. Chapin?"
Ernest Chapin looked up with a start "Why, yes—yes," he said, as if striving confusedly to bring his mind to bear on the question. "I—I think, Miss Wadsworth, we might send direct to the firm who put the alarm in, and ask them to send us a capable man for the purpose."
"Yes, do so," cried Fred Crane. "Let us telephone for him. We must make search for Arnold, and we cannot do so intelligently until we understand more about the working of that alarm. I'm sorry, but I cannot believe, with Miss Duncan, that Arnold has gone off casually, and will soon return. I think the mystery is deeper than that, and I think, too, it is exceedingly wise to call in the family physician. There are other things than strokes or seizures that work harm to a man."
Then Mabel Crane spoke out, voicing the thought that had been secretly in the mind of every one. "Oh, Fred," she cried, almost hysterically, "you don't mean suicide!"
"Hush, hush, Mabel," admonished her husband. "We've no reason to think of such a thing. Justin was happy, and on the eve of his marriage to the girl he loved. Why should he dream of self-destruction just now, of all times?" It had been in Mr. Crane's mind, but when his wife put it into words, the idea seemed so impossible that he repudiated it at once.
But, by a sudden mutual impulse, Dorothy and Ernest Chapin looked at each other for the briefest moment, and then looked away again.
Mabel Crane intercepted the glance and they both saw her.
Dorothy flushed scarlet, but Chapin turned white. Then, apparently with an effort, he drew himself together, and taking some letters from his pocket he began to look them over.
Miss Wadsworth responded to Mabel's suggestion.
"No," she said, very decidedly, "the Arnolds do not commit suicide. Of course there is no reason why Justin should do so, but if there were a thousand reasons for it, he would not do it. I know him well, and a stronger, braver, truer man does not live. You know this, Dorothy?"
"Y—yes," stammered the girl. "Yes, Miss Abby, of course I know—know it. Justin is a splendid man,—a fine man," and then bursting into tears, she again hid her face in her mother's arms.
"I don't see, Dorothy," said Mabel Crane, "if you are so positive nothing has happened to Justin, why you are so overcome."
"And I don't see why it should interest you!" and Dorothy, sitting upright, looked at Mrs. Crane almost angrily. "Of course, I know Justin is all right, but you all drive me crazy with your talk about suicide, and 'something happening'! I don't wonder I'm upset! You would be, too, if people were looking at you and then looking at each other, and then nodding their heads as if—as if—"
"As if what?" demanded Mrs. Crane, with spirit.
But Dorothy's anger faded. "Nothing, Mabel. Don't mind me. I don't know what I'm saying."
"Then you'd better not say anything," and Mabel Crane looked sternly at her.
At this juncture, Driggs returned to the library, and, going to Miss Wadsworth, showed her a somewhat worn brown leather pocketbook.
"It's Mr. Crosby's, ma'am," said Driggs. "He left it in his bedroom, ma'am, when he went away yesterday. And he telephoned me this morning, ma'am, from Philadelphia, as how it contained valuable papers, and would I ask Mr. Arnold to send it to him at once, by registered mail. That would be about eight o'clock, ma'am, that he telephoned, and I told, him I would tell Mr. Arnold. And then, ma'am, in the excitement, I forgot all about the matter until just now. Will you send it to him, ma'am, or will Mr. Chapin?"
"Certainly," replied Miss Abby, taking the pocketbook and handing it to Ernest Chapin.
"Please
