A Strange Disappearance. Anna Katharine Green

be lacking if they were found necessary. I—I could almost swear you shall have anything in reason which you require; only the girl must be found and soon.”

      “Have you thought,” proceeded Mr. Gryce, utterly ignoring the wildness of these statements, “that the girl may come back herself if let alone?”

      “She will come back if she can,” quoth Mrs. Daniels.

      “Did she seem so well satisfied with her home as to warrant you in saying that?”

      “She liked her home, but she loved me,” returned the woman steadily. “She loved me so well she would never have gone as she did without being forced. Yes,” said she, “though she made no outcry and stopped to put on her bonnet and shawl. She was not a girl to make a fuss. If they had killed her outright, she would never have uttered a cry.”

      “Why do you say they?”

      “Because I am confident I heard more than one man’s voice in her room.”

      “Humph! Would you know those voices if you heard them again?”

      “No.”

      There was a surprise in this last negative which Mr. Gryce evidently noticed.

      “I ask,” said he, “because I have been told that Mr. Blake lately kept a body servant who has been seen to look at this girl more than once, when she has passed him on the stairs.”

      Mrs. Daniels’ face turned scarlet with rage and she hastily rose from the chair. “I don’t believe it,” said she; “Henry was a man who knew his place, and—I won’t hear such things,” she suddenly exclaimed; “Emily was—was a lady, and—”

      “Well, well,” interposed Mr. Gryce soothingly, “though the cat looks at the king, it is no sign the king looks at the cat. We have to think of everything you know.”

      “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 knick-knacks 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 any one 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 any way 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.