The Red Seal [22]
he's gone, I suppose?"
"I haven't the faintest idea," answered Barbara truthfully. "I was at his office this -" she stopped abruptly on finding that Mrs. Brewster was standing just behind her. Had the widow by chance overheard her remark? If so, her father would probably learn of her visit to the office of Rochester and Kent that morning.
"Do I understand that Philip Rochester is out of town?" inquired Mrs. Brewster. "Why, I had an appointment with him to-morrow."
"He's gone and left no address that I can find," explained Parker. "Thank you, Miss McIntyre; good evening," and the busy reporter hurried away.
There was a curious expression in Mrs. Brewster's eyes, but she dropped her gaze on her finger bowl too quickly for Clymer to analyze its meaning.
"What can have taken Mr. Rochester out of town?" she asked. The question was not addressed to any one in particular, but Colonel McIntyre answered it, as he did most of the widow's remarks.
"Dry Washington," he explained. "It isn't the first trip Philip has made to Baltimore since the 'dry' law has been in force, eh, Clymer?"
"No, and it won't be his last," was the banker's response. "What's the matter, Miss McIntyre?" as Barbara pushed back her chair.
"I feel a little faint," she stammered. "The air here is - is stifling. If you don't mind, father, I'll take the car and drive home."
"I'll come with you," announced Mrs. Brewster, rising hurriedly; and as she turned solicitously to aid Barbara she caught Colonel McIntyre's admiring glance and his whispered thanks.
Outside the caf Clymer discovered that the McIntyre limousine was not to be found, and, cautioning Barbara and the widow to remain where they were, he went back into the caf in search of Colonel McIntyre, who had stayed behind to pay his bill.
A sudden exodus from the caf as other diners came out to get their cars, separated Barbara from Mrs. Brewster just as the former caught sight of her father's limousine coming around McPherson Square. Not waiting to see what had become of her companion, Barbara started up the sidewalk intent on catching their chauffeur's attention. As she stood by the curb, a figure brushed by her and a paper was deftly slipped inside her hand.
Barbara wheeled about abruptly. She stood alone, except for several elaborately dressed women and their companions some yards away who were indulging in noisy talk as they hurried along. At that moment the McIntyre limousine stopped at the curb and the chauffeur opened the door.
"Take me home, Harris," she ordered. "And then come back for Mrs. Brewster and father. I don't feel well - hurry."
"Very good, miss," and touching his cap the chauffeur swung his car up Fifteenth Street.
The limousine had turned into Massachusetts Avenue before Barbara switched on the electric lamp in the car and opened the note so mysteriously given to her. She read feverishly the few lines it contained
Dear Helen: The coroner will call an inquest. Secrete letter "B."
The note was unsigned but it was in the handwriting of Philip Rochester.
CHAPTER VII
THE RED SEAL
The gloomy morning, with leaden skies and intermittent rain, reflected Harry Kent's state of mind. He could not fix his attention on the business letters which Sylvester placed before him; instead, his thoughts reverted to the scene in Rochester's and Turnbull's apartment the night before, the elusive visitor he had found there on his arrival, his interview with Detective Ferguson, and above all the handkerchief, saturated with amyl nitrite, and bearing the small embroidered letter "B" - the initial, insignificant in size, but fraught with dire possibilities if, as Ferguson hinted, Turnbull had been put to death by an over-dose of the drug. "B " - Barbara; Barbara - "B" - his mind rang the changes; pshaw! other names than Barbara began with "B."
"Shall I transcribe your notes, Mr. Kent?" asked Sylvester, and Kent awakened from his reverie, discovered that he had scrawled the name Barbara and capital "Bs" on the writing pad. He tore
"I haven't the faintest idea," answered Barbara truthfully. "I was at his office this -" she stopped abruptly on finding that Mrs. Brewster was standing just behind her. Had the widow by chance overheard her remark? If so, her father would probably learn of her visit to the office of Rochester and Kent that morning.
"Do I understand that Philip Rochester is out of town?" inquired Mrs. Brewster. "Why, I had an appointment with him to-morrow."
"He's gone and left no address that I can find," explained Parker. "Thank you, Miss McIntyre; good evening," and the busy reporter hurried away.
There was a curious expression in Mrs. Brewster's eyes, but she dropped her gaze on her finger bowl too quickly for Clymer to analyze its meaning.
"What can have taken Mr. Rochester out of town?" she asked. The question was not addressed to any one in particular, but Colonel McIntyre answered it, as he did most of the widow's remarks.
"Dry Washington," he explained. "It isn't the first trip Philip has made to Baltimore since the 'dry' law has been in force, eh, Clymer?"
"No, and it won't be his last," was the banker's response. "What's the matter, Miss McIntyre?" as Barbara pushed back her chair.
"I feel a little faint," she stammered. "The air here is - is stifling. If you don't mind, father, I'll take the car and drive home."
"I'll come with you," announced Mrs. Brewster, rising hurriedly; and as she turned solicitously to aid Barbara she caught Colonel McIntyre's admiring glance and his whispered thanks.
Outside the caf Clymer discovered that the McIntyre limousine was not to be found, and, cautioning Barbara and the widow to remain where they were, he went back into the caf in search of Colonel McIntyre, who had stayed behind to pay his bill.
A sudden exodus from the caf as other diners came out to get their cars, separated Barbara from Mrs. Brewster just as the former caught sight of her father's limousine coming around McPherson Square. Not waiting to see what had become of her companion, Barbara started up the sidewalk intent on catching their chauffeur's attention. As she stood by the curb, a figure brushed by her and a paper was deftly slipped inside her hand.
Barbara wheeled about abruptly. She stood alone, except for several elaborately dressed women and their companions some yards away who were indulging in noisy talk as they hurried along. At that moment the McIntyre limousine stopped at the curb and the chauffeur opened the door.
"Take me home, Harris," she ordered. "And then come back for Mrs. Brewster and father. I don't feel well - hurry."
"Very good, miss," and touching his cap the chauffeur swung his car up Fifteenth Street.
The limousine had turned into Massachusetts Avenue before Barbara switched on the electric lamp in the car and opened the note so mysteriously given to her. She read feverishly the few lines it contained
Dear Helen: The coroner will call an inquest. Secrete letter "B."
The note was unsigned but it was in the handwriting of Philip Rochester.
CHAPTER VII
THE RED SEAL
The gloomy morning, with leaden skies and intermittent rain, reflected Harry Kent's state of mind. He could not fix his attention on the business letters which Sylvester placed before him; instead, his thoughts reverted to the scene in Rochester's and Turnbull's apartment the night before, the elusive visitor he had found there on his arrival, his interview with Detective Ferguson, and above all the handkerchief, saturated with amyl nitrite, and bearing the small embroidered letter "B" - the initial, insignificant in size, but fraught with dire possibilities if, as Ferguson hinted, Turnbull had been put to death by an over-dose of the drug. "B " - Barbara; Barbara - "B" - his mind rang the changes; pshaw! other names than Barbara began with "B."
"Shall I transcribe your notes, Mr. Kent?" asked Sylvester, and Kent awakened from his reverie, discovered that he had scrawled the name Barbara and capital "Bs" on the writing pad. He tore