The four days, from Saturday to the following Tuesday, we lived, or
existed, in a state of the most dreadful suspense. We ate only when
Liddy brought in a tray, and then very little. The papers, of course,
had got hold of the story, and we were besieged by newspaper men. From
all over the country false clues came pouring in and raised hopes that
crumbled again to nothing. Every morgue within a hundred miles, every
hospital, had been visited, without result.
Mr. Jamieson, personally, took charge of the organized search, and
every evening, no matter where he happened to be, he called us by long
distance telephone. It was the same formula. "Nothing to-day. A new
clue to work on. Better luck to-morrow."
And heartsick we would put up the receiver and sit down again to our
vigil.
The inaction was deadly. Liddy cried all day, and, because she knew I
objected to tears, sniffled audibly around the corner.
"For Heaven's sake, smile!" I snapped at her. And her ghastly attempt
at a grin, with her swollen nose and red eyes, made me hysterical. I
laughed and cried together, and pretty soon, like the two old fools we
were, we were sitting together weeping into the same handkerchief.
Things were happening, of course, all the time, but they made little or
no impression. The Charity Hospital called up Doctor Stewart and
reported that Mrs. Watson was in a critical condition. I understood
also that legal steps were being taken to terminate my lease at
Sunnyside. Louise was out of danger, but very ill, and a trained nurse
guarded her like a gorgon. There was a rumor in the village, brought up
by Liddy from the butcher's, that a wedding had already taken place
between Louise and Doctor Walkers and this roused me for the first time
to action.
On Tuesday, then, I sent for the car, and prepared to go out. As I
waited at the porte-cochere I saw the under-gardener, an inoffensive,
grayish-haired man, trimming borders near the house.
The day detective was watching him, sitting on the carriage block.
When he saw me, he got up.
"Miss Innes," he said, taking of his hat, "do you know where Alex, the
gardener, is?"
"Why, no. Isn't he here?" I asked.
"He has been gone since yesterday afternoon. Have you employed him
long?"
"Only a couple of weeks."
"Is he efficient? A capable man?"
"I hardly know," I said vaguely. "The place looks all right, and I
know very little about such things. I know much more about boxes of
roses than bushes of them."
"This man," pointing to the assistant, "says Alex isn't a gardener.
That he doesn't know anything about plants."
"That's very strange," I said, thinking hard. "Why, he came to me from
the Brays, who are in Europe."