CHAPTER XVIII
MR. SPEARMAN GOES NORTH
The message, in blurred lettering and upon the flimsy tissue paper of acarbon copy--that message which had brought tension to the offices ofCorvet, Sherrill, and Spearman and had called Constance Sherrill andher mother downtown where further information could be more quicklyobtained--was handed to Constance by a clerk as soon as she entered herfather's office. She reread it; it already had been repeated to herover the telephone.
"4:05 A. M. Frankfort Wireless station has received following messagefrom No. 25: 'We have Benjamin Corvet, of Chicago, aboard.'"
"You've received nothing later than this?" she asked.
"Nothing regarding Mr. Corvet, Miss Sherrill," the clerk replied.
"Or regarding-- Have you obtained a passenger list?"
"No passenger list was kept, Miss Sherrill."
"The crew?"
"Yes; we have just got the names of the crew." He took another copiedsheet from among the pages and handed it to her, and she looked swiftlydown the list of names until she found that of Alan Conrad.
Her eyes filled, blinding her, as she put the paper down, and began totake off her things. She had been clinging determinedly in her thoughtto the belief that Alan might not have been aboard the ferry. Alan'smessage, which had sent her father north to meet the ship, had impliedplainly that some one whom Alan believed might be Uncle Benny was onNumber 25; she had been fighting, these last few hours, againstconviction that therefore Alan must be on the ferry too.
She stood by the desk, as the clerk went out, looking through thepapers which he had left with her.
"What do they say?" her mother asked.
Constance caught herself together.
"Wireless signals from No. 25," she read aloud, "were plainly made outat shore stations at Ludington, Manitowoc, and Frankfort until aboutfour o'clock, when--"
"That is, until about six hours ago, Constance."
"Yes, mother, when the signals were interrupted. The steamer_Richardson_, in response to whose signals No. 25 made the change inher course which led to disaster, was in communication until about fouro'clock; Frankfort station picked up one message shortly after four,and same message was also recorded by Carferry Manitoulin in southernend of lake; subsequently all efforts to call No. 25 failed of responseuntil 4:35 when a message was picked up at once by Manitowoc,Frankfort, and the _Richardson_. Information, therefore, regarding thefate of the ferry up to that hour received at this office (Corvet,Sherrill, and Spearman) consists of the following..."
Constance stopped reading aloud and looked rapidly down the sheet andthen over the next. What she was reading was the carbon of the reportprepared that morning and sent, at his rooms, to Henry, who was not yetdown. It did not contain therefore the last that was known; and sheread only enough of it to be sure of that.
"After 4:10, to repeated signals to Number 25 from _Richardson_ andshore stations--'Are you in danger?' 'Shall we send help?' 'Are youjettisoning cars?' 'What is your position?'--no replies were received.The _Richardson_ continued therefore to signal, 'Report your positionand course; we will stand by,' at the same time making full speedtoward last position given by Number 25. At 4:35, no other messagehaving been obtained from Number 25 in the meantime, Manitowoc andFrankfort both picked up the following: 'S.O.S. Are taking water fast.S.O.S. Position probably twenty miles west N. Fox. S.O.S.' TheS.O.S. has been repeated, but without further information since."
The report made to Henry ended here. Constance picked up the latermessages received in response to orders to transmit to Corvet,Sherrill, and Spearman copies of all signals concerning Number 25 whichhad been received or sent. She sorted out from them those dated afterthe hour she just had read:
"4:40, Manitowoc is calling No. 25, 'No. 26 is putting north to you.Keep in touch.'
"4:43, No. 26 is calling No. 25, 'What is your position?'
"4:50, the _Richardson_ is calling No. 25, 'We must be approaching you.Are you giving whistle signals?'
"4:53, No. 25 is replying to _Richardson_, 'Yes; will continue tosignal. Do you hear us?'
"4:59, Frankfort is calling No. 25, 'What is your condition?'
"5:04, No. 25 is replying to Frankfort, 'Holding bare headway; sternvery low.'
"5:10, No. 26 is calling No. 25, 'Are you throwing off cars?'
"5:14, Petoskey is calling Manitowoc, 'We are receiving S.O.S. What iswrong?' Petoskey has not previously been in communication with shorestations or ships.
"5:17, No. 25 is signalling No. 26, 'Are throwing off cars; havecleared eight; work very difficult. We are sinking.'
"5:20, No. 25 is calling the _Richardson_, 'Watch for small boats.Position doubtful because of snow and changes of course; probably duewest N. Fox, twenty to thirty miles.'
"5:24, No. 26 is calling No. 25, 'Are you abandoning ship?'
"5:27, No. 25 is replying to No. 26, 'Second boat just getting safelyaway with passengers; first boat was smashed. Six passengers in secondboat, two injured of crew, cabin maid, boy and two men.'
"5:30, Manitowoc and Frankfort are calling No. 25, 'Are you abandoningship?'
"5:34, No. 25 is replying to Manitowoc, 'Still trying to clear cars;everything is loose below...'
"5:40, Frankfort is calling Manitowoc, 'Do you get anything now?'
"5:45, Manitowoc is calling the _Richardson_, 'Do you get anything?Signals have stopped here.'
"5:48, The _Richardson_ is calling Petoskey, 'We get nothing now. Doyou?'
"6:30, Petoskey is calling Manitowoc, 'Signals after becomingindistinct, failed entirely about 5:45, probably by failure of ship'spower to supply current. Operator appears to have remained at key.From 5:25 to 5:43 we received disconnected messages, as follows: 'Havecleared another car ... they are sticking to it down there ...engine-room crew is also sticking ... hell on car deck ... everythingsmashed ... they won't give up ... sinking now ... we're going ...good-by ... stuck to end ... all they could ... know that ... hand itto them ... have cleared another car ... sink ... S.O.... Signals thenentirely ceased.'"
There was no more than this. Constance let the papers fall back uponthe desk and looked to her mother; Mrs. Sherrill loosened her furcollar and sat back, breathing more comfortably. Constance quicklyshifted her gaze and, trembling and with head erect, she walked to thewindow and looked out. The meaning of what she had read was quiteclear; her mother was formulating it.
"So they are both lost, Mr. Corvet and his--son," Mrs. Sherrill saidquietly.
Constance did not reply, either to refuse or to concur in theconclusion. There was not anything which was meant to be merciless inthat conclusion; her mother simply was crediting what probably hadoccurred. Constance could not in reason refuse to accept it too; yetshe was refusing it. She had not realized, until these reports of thewireless messages told her that he was gone, what companionship withAlan had come to mean to her. She had accepted it as always to beexistent, somehow--a companionship which might be interrupted often butalways to be formed again. It amazed her to find how firm a place hehad found in her world of those close to her with whom she must alwaysbe intimately concerned.
Her mother arose and came beside her. "May it not be better,Constance, that it has happened this way?"
"Better!" Constance cried. She controlled herself.
It was only what Henry had said to her months ago when Alan had lefther in the north in the search which had resulted in the finding ofUncle Benny--"Might it not be better for him not to find out?" Henry,who could hazard more accurately than any one else the nature of thatstrange secret which Alan now must have "found out," had believed it;her mother, who at least had lived longer in the world than she, alsobelieved it. There came before Constance the vision of Alan's defianceand refusal to accept the stigma suggested in her father's recital tohim of his relationship to Mr. Corvet. There came to her sight of himas he had tried to keep her from entering Uncle Benny's house when Lukewas there, and then her waiting with hi
m through the long hour and hisdismissal of her, his abnegation of their friendship. And at that timehis disgrace was indefinite; last night had he learned something worsethan he had dreaded?
The words of his telegram took for her more terrible significance forthe moment. "Have some one who knew Mr. Corvet well enough torecognize him even if greatly changed meet..." Were the broken,incoherent words of the wireless the last that she should hear of him,and of Uncle Benny, after that? "They are sticking to it ... downthere ... they won't give up ... sinking ... they have cleared anothercar ... sink..." Had it come as the best way for them both?
"The _Richardson_ is searching for boats, mother," Constance returnedsteadily, "and Number 26 must be there too by now."
Her mother looked to the storm. Outside the window which overlookedthe lake from two hundred feet above the street, the sleet-like snowwas driving ceaselessly; all over the western basin of the great lakes,as Constance knew--over Huron, over Michigan, and Superior--the stormwas established. Its continuance and severity had claimed a front-pagecolumn in the morning papers. Duluth that morning had reportedtemperature of eighteen below zero and fierce snow; at Marquette it wasfifteen below; there was driving snow at the Soo, at Mackinac, and atall ports along both shores. She pictured little boats, at the lastmoment, getting away from the ferry, deep-laden with injured andexhausted men; how long might those men live in open boats in a galeand with cold like that? The little clock upon her father's deskmarked ten o'clock; they had been nearly five hours in the boats now,those men.
Constance knew that as soon as anything new was heard, it would bebrought to her; yet, with a word to her mother, she went from herfather's room and down the corridor into the general office. A hush ofexpectancy held this larger room; the clerks moved silently and spoketo one another in low voices; she recognized in a little group of mengathered in a corner of the room some officers of Corvet, Sherrill, andSpearman's ships. Others among them, whom she did not know, wereplainly seamen too--men who knew "Ben" Corvet and who, on hearing hewas on the ferry, had come in to learn what more was known; thebusiness men and clubmen, friends of Corvet's later life, had not heardit yet. There was a restrained, professional attentiveness among theseseamen, as of those in the presence of an event which any day mighthappen to themselves. They were listening to the clerk who hadcompiled the report, who was telephoning now, and Constance, waiting,listened too to learn what he might be hearing. But he put down thereceiver as he saw her.
"Nothing more, Miss Sherrill," he reported. "The _Richardson_ haswirelessed that she reached the reported position of the sinking abouthalf-past six o'clock. She is searching but has found nothing."
"She's keeping on searching, though?"
"Yes; of course."
"It's still snowing there?"
"Yes, Miss Sherrill. We've had a message from your father. He hasgone on to Manistique; it's more likely that wreckage or survivors willbe brought in there."
The telephone switchboard beside Constance suddenly buzzed, and theoperator, plugging in a connection, said: "Yes, sir; at once," andthrough the partitions of the private office on the other side, a man'sheavy tones came to Constance. That was Henry's office and, in timbre,the voice was his, but it was so strange in other characteristics ofexpression that she waited an instant before saying to the clerk,
"Mr. Spearman has come in?"
The clerk hesitated, but the continuance of the tone from the otherside of the partition made reply superfluous. "Yes, Miss Sherrill."
"Did you tell him that mother and I were here?"
The clerk considered again before deciding to reply in the affirmative.There evidently was some trouble with the telephone number which Henryhad called; the girl at the switchboard was apologizing in frightenedpanic, and Henry's voice, loud and abusive, came more plainly throughthe partition. Constance started to give an instruction to the clerk;then, as the abuse burst out again, she changed her plan and went toHenry's door and rapped. Whether no one else rapped in that way orwhether he realized that she might have come into the general office,she did not know; but at once his voice was still. He made no answerand no move to open the door; so, after waiting a moment, she turnedthe knob and went in.
Henry was seated at his desk, facing her, his big hands before him; oneof them held the telephone receiver. He lifted it slowly and put itupon the hook beside the transmitter as he watched her with steady,silent, aggressive scrutiny. His face was flushed a little--not much;his hair was carefully brushed, and there was something about hisclean-shaven appearance and the set of his perfectly fitting coat, onewhich he did not ordinarily wear to business, which seemed studied. Hedid not rise; only after a moment he recollected that he had not doneso and came to his feet. "Good morning, Connie," he said. "Come in.What's the news?"
There was something strained and almost menacing in his voice and inhis manner which halted her. She in some way--or her presence at thatmoment--appeared to be definitely disturbing him. It frightened him,she would have thought, except that the idea was a contradiction.Henry frightened? But if he was not, what emotion now controlled him?
The impulse which had brought her into his office went from her. Shehad not seen nor heard from Henry directly since before Alan's telegramhad come late yesterday afternoon; she had heard from her father onlythat he had informed Henry; that was all.
"I've no news, Henry," she said. "Have you?" She closed the doorbehind her before moving closer to him. She had not known what he hadbeen doing, since he had heard of Alan's telegram; but she had supposedthat he was in some way cooperating with her father, particularly sinceword had come of the disaster to the ferry.
"How did you happen to be here, Connie?" he asked.
She made no reply but gazed at him, studying him. The agitation whichhe was trying to conceal was not entirely consequent to her coming inupon him; it had been ruling him before. It had underlain the loudnessand abuse of his words which she had overheard. That was no capriciousoutburst of temper or irritation; it had come from something which hadseized and held him in suspense, in dread--in dread; there was no otherway to define her impression to herself. When she had opened the doorand come in, he had looked up in dread, as though preparing himself forwhatever she might announce. Now that the door shut them in alone, heapproached her with arms offered. She stepped back, instinctivelyavoiding his embrace; and he stopped at once, but he had come quiteclose to her now.
That she had detected faintly the smell of liquor
about him was not the whole reason for her drawing back. He was notdrunk; he was quite himself so far as any influence of that kind wasconcerned. Long ago, when he was a young man on the boats, he haddrunk a good deal; he had confessed to her once; but he had not done sofor years. Since she had known him, he had been among the most carefulof her friends; it was for "efficiency" he had said. The drink wassimply a part--indeed, only a small part--of the subtle strangeness andpeculiarity she marked in him. If he had been drinking now, it was,she knew, no temptation, no capricious return to an old appetite. Ifnot appetite, then it was for the effect--to brace himself. Againstwhat? Against the thing for which he had prepared himself when shecame upon him?
As she stared at him, the clerk's voice came to her suddenly over thepartition which separated the office from the larger room where theclerk was receiving some message over the telephone. Henrystraightened, listened; as the voice stopped, his great, finely shapedhead sank between his shoulders; he fumbled in his pocket for a cigar,and his big hands shook as he lighted it, without word of excuse toher. A strange feeling came to her that he felt what he dreadedapproaching and was no longer conscious of her presence.
She heard footsteps in the larger room coming toward the office door.Henry was in suspense. A rap came at the door. He whitened and tookthe cigar from his mouth and wet his lips.
"Come in," he summoned.
One of the office girls entered, bringing a white page of paper withthree or four
lines of purple typewriting upon it which Constancerecognized must be a transcript of a message just received.
She started forward at sight of it, forgetting everything else; but hetook the paper as though he did not know she was there. He merely heldit until the girl had gone out; even then he stood folding andunfolding it, and his eyes did not drop to the sheet.
The girl had said nothing at all but, having seen her, Constance wasathrill; the girl had not been a bearer of bad news, that was sure; shebrought some sort of good news! Constance, certain of it, moved nearerto Henry to read what he held. He looked down and read.
"What is it, Henry?"
His muscular reaction, as he read, had drawn the sheet away from her;he recovered himself almost instantly and gave the paper to her; but,in that instant, Constance herself was "prepared." She must havedeceived herself the instant before! This bulletin must be somethingdismaying to what had remained of hope.
"8:35 A.M., Manitowoc, Wis.," she read. "The schooner _Anna S.Solwerk_ has been sighted making for this port. She is not closeenough for communication, but two lifeboats, additional to her own, canbe plainly made out. It is believed that she must have picked upsurvivors of No. 25. She carries no wireless, so is unable to report.Tugs are going out to her."
"Two lifeboats!" Constance cried. "That could mean that they all aresaved or nearly all; doesn't it, Henry; doesn't it?"
He had read some other significance in it, she thought, or, from hisgreater understanding of conditions in the storm, he had been able tohold no hope from what had been reported. That was the only way shecould explain to herself as he replied to her; that the word meant tohim that men were saved and that therefore it was dismaying to him,could not come to her at once. When it came now, it went over herfirst only in the flash of incredulous question.
"Yes," he said to her. "Yes." And he went out of the room to theouter office. She turned and watched him and then followed to thedoor. He had gone to the desk of the girl who had brought him thebulletin, and Constance heard his voice, strained and queerlyunnatural. "Call Manitowoc on the long distance. Get the harbormaster. Get the names of the people that the _Solwerk_ picked up."
He stayed beside the girl while she started the call. "Put them on mywire when you get them," he commanded and turned back to his office."Keep my wire clear for that."
Constance retreated into the room as he approached. He did not wanther there now, she knew; for that reason--if she yet definitelyunderstood no other--she meant to remain. If he asked her to go, sheintended to stay; but he did not ask her. He wished her to go away; inevery word which he spoke to her, in every moment of their silentwaiting, was his desire to escape her; but he dared not--dared not--goabout that directly.
The feeling of that flashed over her to her stupefaction. Henry andshe were waiting for word of the fate of Uncle Benny and Alan, andwaiting opposed! She was no longer doubting it as she watched him; shewas trying to understand. The telephone buzzer under his desk sounded;she drew close as he took up his receiver.
"Manitowoc?" he said. "I want to know what you've heard from the_Solwerk_.... You hear me? ... The men the _Solwerk_ picked up. Youhave the names yet?"
"..."
"The _Benton_?"
"..."
"Oh, I understand! All from the _Benton_. I see! ... No; never mindtheir names. How about Number 25? Nothing more heard from them?"
Constance had caught his shoulder while he was speaking and now clungto it. Release--release of strain was going through him; she couldfeel it, and she heard it in his tones and saw it in his eyes.
"The steamer Number 25 rammed proves to have been the _Benton_," hetold her. "The men are all from her. They had abandoned her in thesmall boats, and the _Solwerk_ picked them up before the ferry foundher."
He was not asking her to congratulate him upon the relief he felt; hehad not so far forgotten himself as that. But it was plain to her thathe was congratulating himself; it had been fear that he was feelingbefore--fear, she was beginning to understand, that those on the ferryhad been saved. She shrank a little away from him. Benjamin Corvethad not been a friend of Henry's--they had quarreled; Uncle Benny hadcaused trouble; but nothing which she had understood could explain fearon Henry's part lest Uncle Benny should be found safe. Henry had notwelcomed Alan; but now Henry was hoping that Alan was dead. Henry'swords to her in the north, after Alan had seen her there, iteratedthemselves to her: "I told that fellow Conrad not to keep stirring upthese matters about Ben Corvet.... Conrad doesn't know what he'll turnup; I don't know either. But it's not going to be anythingpleasant...." Only a few minutes ago she had still thought of thesewords as spoken only for Alan's sake and for Uncle Benny's; now shecould not think of them so. This fear of news from the north could notbe for their sake; it was for Henry's own. Had all the warnings beenfor Henry's sake too?
Horror and amazement flowed in upon her with her realization of this inthe man she had promised to marry; and he seemed now to appreciate theeffect he was producing upon her. He tried obviously to pull himselftogether; he could not do that fully; yet he managed a manner assertiveof his right over her.
"Connie," he cried to her, "Connie!"
She drew back from him as he approached her; she was not yetconsciously denying his right. What was controlling him, what mightunderlie his hope that they were dead, she could not guess; she couldnot think or reason about that now; what she felt was only overwhelmingdesire to be away from him where she could think connectedly. For aninstant she stared at him, all her body tense; then, as she turned andwent out, he followed her, again calling her name. But, seeing theseamen in the larger office, he stopped, and she understood he was notwilling to urge himself upon her in their presence.
She crossed the office swiftly; in the corridor she stopped to composeherself before she met her mother. She heard Henry's voice speaking toone of the clerks, and flushed hotly with horror. Could she be certainof anything about him now? Could she be certain even that news whichcame through these employees of his would not be kept from her or onlyso much given her as would serve Henry's purpose and enable him toconceal from her the reason for his fear? She pushed the door open.
"I'm willing to go home now, mother, if you wish," she said steadily.
Her mother arose at once. "There is no more news, Constance?"
"No; a schooner has picked up the crew of the ship the ferry rammed;that is all."
She followed her mother, but stopped in the ante-room beside the deskof her father's private secretary.
"You are going to be here all day, Miss Bennet?" she asked.
"Yes, Miss Sherrill."
"Will you please try to see personally all messages which come toCorvet, Sherrill and Spearman, or to Mr. Spearman about the men fromNumber 25, and telephone them to me yourself?"
"Certainly, Miss Sherrill."
When they had gone down to the street and were in the car, Constanceleaned back, closing her eyes; she feared her mother might wish to talkwith her. The afternoon papers were already out with news of the lossof the ferry; Mrs. Sherrill stopped the car and bought one, butConstance looked at it only enough to make sure that the reporters hadbeen able to discover nothing more than she already knew; the newspaperreference to Henry was only as to the partner of the great Chicago shipowner, Benjamin Corvet, who might be lost with the ship.
She called Miss Bennet as soon as she reached home; but nothing morehad been received. Toward three o'clock, Miss Bennet called her, butonly to report that the office had heard again from Mr. Sherrill. Hehad wired that he was going on from Manistique and would cross theStraits from St. Ignace; messages from him were to be addressed toPetoskey. He had given no suggestion that he had news; and there wasno other report except that vessels were still continuing the searchfor survivors, because the Indian Drum, which had been beating, wasbeating "short," causing the superstitious to be certain that, thoughsome of the men from Number 25 were lost, some yet survived
.
Constance thrilled as she heard that. She did not believe in the Drum;at least she had never thought she had really believed in it; she hadonly stirred to the idea of its being true. But if the Drum wasbeating, she was glad it was beating short. It was serving, at least,to keep the lake men more alert. She wondered what part the report ofthe Drum might have played in her father's movements. None, probably;for he, of course, did not believe in the Drum. His move was plainlydictated by the fact that, with the western gale, drift from the ferrywould be toward the eastern shore.
A little later, as Constance stood at the window, gazing out at thesnow upon the lake, she drew back suddenly out of sight from thestreet, as she saw Henry's roadster appear out of the storm and stopbefore the house.
She had been apprehensively certain that he would come to her some timeduring the day; he had been too fully aware of the effect he made uponher not to attempt to remove that effect as soon as he could. As hegot out of the car, shaking the snowflakes from his great fur coat andfrom his cap, looking up at the house before he came in and not knowingthat he was observed, she saw something very like triumph in hismanner. Her pulses stopped, then raced, at that; triumph for him!That meant, if he brought news, it was good news for him; it must bethen, bad news for her.
She waited in the room where she was. She heard him in the hall,taking off his coat and speaking to the servant, and he appeared thenat the door. The strain he was under had not lessened, she could see;or rather, if she could trust her feeling at sight of him, it hadlessened only slightly, and at the same time his power to resist it hadbeen lessening too. His hands and even his body shook; but his headwas thrust forward, and he stared at her aggressively, and, plainly, hehad determined in advance to act toward her as though theirrelationship had not been disturbed.
"I thought you'd want to know, Connie," he said, "so I came straightout. The _Richardson's_ picked up one of the boats from the ferry."
"Uncle Benny and Alan Conrad were not in it," she returned; the triumphshe had seen in him had told her that.
"No; it was the first boat put off by the ferry, with the passengersand cabin maid and some injured men of the crew."
"Were they--alive?" her voice hushed tensely.
"Yes; that is, they were able to revive them all; but it didn't seempossible to the _Richardson's_ officers that any one could be revivedwho had been exposed much longer than that; so the _Richardson's_ givenup the search, and some of the other ships that were searching havegiven up too, and gone on their course."
"When did you hear that, Henry? I was just speaking with the office."
"A few minutes ago; a news wire got it before any one else; it didn'tcome through the office."
"I see; how many were in the boat?"
"Twelve, Connie."
"Then all the vessels up there won't give up yet!"
"Why not?"
"I was just talking with Miss Bennet, Henry; she's heard again from theother end of the lake. The people up there say the Drum is beating,but it's beating short still!"
"Short!"
She saw Henry stiffen. "Yes," she said swiftly. "They say the Drumbegan sounding last night, and that at first it sounded for only twolives; it's kept on beating, but still is beating only for four. Therewere thirty-nine on the ferry--seven passengers and thirty-two crew.Twelve have been saved now; so until the Drum raises the beats totwenty-seven there is still a chance that some one will be saved."
Henry made no answer; his hands fumbled purposelessly with the lapelsof his coat, and his bloodshot eyes wandered uncertainly. Constancewatched him with wonder at the effect of what she had told. When shehad asked him once about the Drum, he had professed the same scepticismwhich she had; but he had not held it; at least he was not holding itnow. The news of the Drum had shaken him from his triumph over Alanand Uncle Benny and over her. It had shaken him so that, though heremained with her some minutes more, he seemed to have forgotten thepurpose of reconciliation with her which had brought him to the house.When a telephone call took her out of the room, she returned to findhim gone to the dining-room; she heard a decanter clink there against aglass. He did not return to her again, but she heard him go. Theentrance door closed after him, and the sound of his starting motorcame. Then alarm, stronger even than that she had felt during themorning, rushed upon her.
She dined, or made a pretence of dining, with her mother at seven. Hermother's voice went on and on about trifles, and Constance did not tryto pay attention. Her thought was following Henry with ever sharpeningapprehension. She called the office in mid-evening; it would be open,she knew, for messages regarding Uncle Benny and Alan would be expectedthere. A clerk answered; no other news had been received; she thenasked Henry's whereabouts.
"Mr. Spearman went north late this afternoon, Miss Sherrill," the clerkinformed her.
"North? Where?"
"We are to communicate with him this evening to Grand Rapids; afterthat, to Petoskey."
Constance could hear her own heart beat. Why had Henry gone, shewondered; not, certainly, to aid the search. Had he gone to--hinder it?