"

"Where does he live?" asked the mayor.

"In the Sutherland," was the reply, "the big apartment building back of
the American House."

"Very well. Tell him I will be there with Miss Snow at eight o'clock,"
she answered; and then she called Mary Snow and told her of the
appointment.

"Don't you think we ought to take someone else along?--a man--Bailey
Armstrong, say?"

"O, no," returned the Mayor, confidently. "Fitzgerald would not talk
before him--or any other man--in my opinion. He was a peculiar boy, but
I could manage him. It will be better for us to go alone--and quietly.
We won't even take the carriage. I'll come down on the car at a quarter
before eight and meet you at Harne's drug store. Then we'll just go
quietly up to Fitzgerald's flat. I know his wife."

"Very well," said Mary. If she did not feel quite satisfied with the
plan, it was not for her to question the mayor's authority, and she said
no more.

But the next morning the newspapers brought a new sensation to a
startled city. Two important pieces of news furnished excitement enough
to arouse even the staid and respectable old _Atlas_. People gathered in
knots on street corners to discuss them. The air was breezy with
excitement. The street corners were blocked with gathering knots of
indignant citizens, eager crowds gathered in front of newspaper bulletin
boards, questioning among themselves whether there was any respect for
law and order left in Roma; whether life was safe on the open street;
whether the public was to be fooled any longer by charlatans and
tricksters; whether the police could or would do anything in the
premises. In short, every citizen of Roma, rich or poor, old or young,
was aroused at last by these two bits of news.

The startling news was--

Orlando Vickery had "jumped his bail" and disappeared; and

The Mayor and her private secretary had not been seen nor heard from
since they left the drug-store the previous evening at a quarter before
eight.

CHAPTER XVIII

A Futile Search

It would seem that in a city of fifty thousand inhabitants, it would be
impossible for the Mayor and his (or her) private secretary to drop so
suddenly and completely from sight as to leave no trace or clue behind
them; yet such was the fact. Knowing Fitzgerald to be of a peculiar
temperament, Gertrude had arranged to meet him as quietly as possible.
Had her cousin, Jessie Craig, been at home, she would have told her
where she was