t she
disappeared last night. A most peculiar girl--but a splendid worker."

"She has been ill," Constance hastened to explain. "I am a friend of
hers. I have a business downtown and could not come around until
to-night to tell you that she will be back to-morrow if you will take
her back."

"Of course I'll take her back. I'm sorry she's ill," and Mrs. Palmer
bustled out into the kitchen, not unfeelingly but merely because that
was her manner.

Constance paid her check and left the tea room. So far she had
succeeded. The next thing she had planned was a visit to Mr. Gibbons.
That need not take long, for she was not going to tell anything. Her
idea was merely to pave the way.

The Gibbons she found, lived in a large house on one of the numerous
side streets from the Park, in a neighborhood that was in fact
something more than merely well-to-do.

Fortunately she found Everett Gibbons in and was ushered into his
study, where he sat poring over some papers and enjoying an
after-dinner cigar.

"Mr. Gibbons," began Constance, "I believe there is a one thousand
dollar reward for news of the whereabouts of your daughter, Florence."

"Yes," he said in a colorless tone that betrayed the hopelessness of
the long search. "But we have traced down so many false clues that we
have given up hope. Since the day she went away, we have never been
able to get the slightest trace of her. Still, we welcome outside aid."

"Of detectives?" she asked.

"Official and private--paid and volunteer--anybody," he answered. "I
myself have come to the belief that she is dead, for that is the only
explanation I can think of for her long silence."

"She is not dead," replied Constance in a low tone.

"Not dead?" he repeated eagerly, catching at even such a straw as an
unknown woman might cast out. "Then you know--"

"No," she interrupted positively, "I cannot tell you any more. You must
call off all other searchers. I will let you know."

"When?"

"To-morrow, perhaps the next day. I will call you on the telephone."

She rose and made a hasty adieu before the man who had been prematurely
aged might overwhelm her with questions and break down her resolution
to carry the thing through as she had seen best.

Cheerily, Constance turned the key in the lock of her door.

There was no light and somehow the silence smote on her ominously.

"Florence!" she called.

There was no answer.

Not a sign indicated her presence. There was the div