“You must never think of anything like that.”
Mr. Gryce softly ran his thumb around the brim of the hat he held in his hand. “Mrs. Daniels,” observed he, “it would greatly facilitate matters if you would kindly tell us why you take such an interest in this girl. One glimpse at her real history would do more towards setting us on the right track than anything else you could offer.”
Her face assumed an unmistakable frown. “Have I not told you,” said she, “what is known of it? That she came to me about two years ago for work; that I liked her, and so hired her; that she has been with us ever since and—”
“Then you will not tell us?” exclaimed Mr. Gryce.
Her face fell and a look of hesitation crossed it.
“I doubt if we can do anything unless you do,” continued he.
Her countenance settled again into a resolved expression.
“You are mistaken,” said she; “if the girl had a secret—as nearly all girls have, brought low as she has evidently been—it had nothing to do with her disappearance, nor would a knowledge of it help you in any way. I am confident of this and so shall hold my peace.”
She was not a woman to be frightened or cajoled into making revelations she did not think necessary, and seeing it, Mr. Gryce refrained from urging her further.
“However, you will at least tell me this,” said he, “what were the knickknacks she took away with her from her bureau drawer?”
“No,” said she, “for they have nothing to do with her abduction. They were articles of positive value to her, though I assure you of little importance to anyone else. All that is shown by their disappearance is the fact that she had a moment’s time allowed her in which to collect what she most wanted.”
Mr. Gryce arose. “Well,” said he, “you have given us a hard sum to work out, but I am not the man to recoil from anything hard. If I can discover the whereabouts of this girl I will certainly do it, but you must help me.”
“I, how?”
“By inserting a personal in the Herald. You say she loves you; and would come back if she could. Now whether you believe it or not this is open to doubt; therefore I would advise that you take some such means as that to inform her of the anxiety of her friends and their desire to communicate with her.”
“Impossible,” she cried vehemently. “I should be afraid—”
“Well?”
“I might put it that Mrs. D⸺, anxious about Emily, desires information of her whereabouts—”
“Put it anyway you like.”
“You had better add,” said I, speaking for the first time, “that you would be willing to pay for information.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Gryce, “add that.”
Mrs. Daniels frowned, but made no objection, and after getting as minute a description as possible of the clothing worn by the girl the night before, we left the house.
IV
Thompson’s Story
“An affair of some mystery,” remarked Mr. Gryce, as we halted at the corner to take a final look at the house and its environs. “Why a girl should choose such a method of descent as that,”—and he pointed to the ladder down which we believed her to have come—“to leave a house of which she had been an inmate for a year, baffles me, I can tell you. If it were not for those marks of blood which betray her track, I would be disinclined to believe any such harebrained adventure was ever perpetrated by a woman. As it is, what wouldn’t I give for her photograph. Black hair, black eyes, white face and thin figure! what a description whereby to find a girl in this great city of New York. Ah!” said he with sudden gratification, “here is Mr. Blake again; his appointment must have been a failure. Let us see if his description will be any more definite.” And hurrying towards the advancing figure of that gentleman, he put some questions to him.
Instantly Mr. Blake stopped, looked at him blankly for a moment, then replied in a tone sufficiently loud for me to hear:
“I am sorry, sir, if my description could have done you any good, but I have not the remotest idea how the girl looked. I did not know till this morning even, that there was such a person in my house as a sewing-woman. I leave all such domestic concerns entirely with Mrs. Daniels.”
Mr. Gryce again bowed low and ventured another question. The answer came as before, distinctly to my ears.
“O, I may have seen her, I can not say about that; I very often run across the servants in the hall; but whether she is tall or short, light or dark, pretty or ugly, I know no more than you do, sir.” Then with a dignified nod calculated to abash a man in Mr. Gryce’s position, inquired,
“Is that all?”
It did not seem to be, Mr. Gryce put another question.
Mr. Blake give him a surprised stare before replying, then courteously remarked,
“I do not concern myself with servants after they have left me. Henry was an excellent valet, but a trifle domineering, something which I never allow in anyone who approaches me. I dismissed him and that was the end of it, I know nothing of what has become of him.”
Mr. Gryce bowed and drew back, and Mr. Blake, with the haughty step peculiar to him, passed by him and reentered his house.
“I should not like to get into that man’s clutches,” said I, as my superior rejoined me; “he has a way of making one appear so small.”
Mr. Gryce shot an askance look at his shadow gloomily following him along the pavement. “Yet it may happen that you will have to run the risk of that very experience.”
I glanced towards him in amazement.
“If the girl does not turn up of her own accord, or if we do not succeed in getting some trace of
