next train and the next, and” She broke off, and looked suddenly broken, as if something had been taken away from her. “He’s just— gone, Rolly.”
“What did you do about it yesterday?” asked Rollison.
“Nothing. I—we—kept hoping.”
The door opened abruptly, and Gwendoline strode in, closing it behind her. She was tight-lipped and angry.
“You might have had the decency to warn us if you couldn’t leave her behind.”
“Gwen!” reproved Hilda.
“Well, couldn’t he?” demanded Gwen. “But there isn’t time for recriminations, she’ll be down in five minutes if I know anything about her, she won’t want to miss a word! Have you told Rolly about father?”
“Yes, of course,” said Hilda.
Rollison stepped to the fireplace and stood with his back towards it, paying more attention to Gwendoline.
“Will you help us to find David?” she demanded.
“Yes,” said Rollison. “If you will tell me the whole truth.”
“But Rolly” began Hilda, and then her voice trailed off.
“Why did you do nothing yesterday?” demanded Rollison. “You were worried the night before last, you say, but you didn’t tell me and you don’t appear to have told the police.”
Hilda said: “We kept hoping against hope, because we don’t want a scandal. We must give David every chance to— to” Her voice trailed off again.
“To do what?” demanded Rollison.
“To give the lie to those damned hypocrites who are spreading the story that he is in difficulties,” said Gwendoline, in a low-pitched voice. “He isn’t, he can’t be! And I tell you that this woman whom you thought fit to bring along here to-night is responsible. Oh, I can see that she had duped you; I suppose that isn’t difficult if you’re foreign and a little unusual, but she has no more lost her memory than I have!”
She broke off and coloured furiously, for the door had opened and the Lady Lost stood there, so exquisitely gowned and so lovely, with the smile frozen on her lips and a hopeless expression in her eyes.
“Mr. Rollison,” she said, quietly, “please take me away from here.”
“My dear!” cried Hilda, “you are warmly welcome; my daughter is distraught or she would not have said such a thing.” She looked distractedly at Gwen. “Gwen, please, apologize for the hateful thing you said.”
Gwen looked steadily at the woman in the doorway, and spoke in a low-pitched voice, hardly moving her lips.
“Her memory is as good as yours and mine,” she said.
“Gwen!”
“Ask her to deny it,” sneered Gwendoline.
The woman in the doorway turned slowly and walked into the hall, carrying herself proudly and yet giving an impression that she had become deeply despondent and hurt. Hilda hurried after her. Gwendoline took a cigarette from a box on the table, lit it, and returned Rollison’s steady gaze.
“Do you really believe that?” he demanded.
“Yes, and so will you, unless you’re completely under her domination.”
Rollison said: “I see. And under whose influence did you refuse to tell me or the police about David, until to- night, and why are you still anxious not to let the police know that he has disappeared?”
She backed away, the colour now going from her face.
“Answer me,” said Rollison, roughly. “Who persuaded you to let him be away for two days?” When she did not answer, he went on with a hard note in his voice: “You’ve damned his reputation. Until he’s found,
“Rolly!”
“You’re behaving as if you do,” said Rollison.
Hilda was still talking outside, and intermingled with her words was the voice of a man. It was Jolly. Jolly would not let Lady Lost go unaccompanied. Rollison stood looking at Gwendoline.
“Well, who was it?” he demanded.
In a low voice, she said: “Pomeroy.”
“The little fat man?”
“Yes.”
“The firm of Pomeroy, Ward & Pomeroy deny all knowledge of him,” said Rollison. “Who told you that the man’s name was Pomeroy, and what gave him the authority to make you keep silent about David for so long?”
She said: “David—brought him here. He seemed to trust him. He—Pomeroy—telephoned us yesterday. David should have kept an appointment with him yesterday evening, but did not. Pomeroy advised us to say nothing; he felt sure that David would come back before long.”
