The Seventh Noon Part 22

The clerk appeared relieved by the sound of his voice.

"Why, sir, we got a bit worried about you. We weren't able to raise you all day yesterday."

"Could n't what? I sat up until two o'clock this morning in the lobby.

I was awake in my room here two hours after that!"

"You must be mistaken, sir. We rang your room telephone several times yesterday, and pounded at your door without getting an answer."

"I was away during the day, but I was here all last night. I asked you particularly if any call had been received for me."

The clerk smiled tentatively.

"The chamber-maid found you in bed at eleven o'clock in the morning, sir."

"The chamber-maid must have come into the wrong room," answered Donaldson, beginning to suspect that he had caught the two men in the act of thieving. "I was n't in bed at all yesterday, and left the city at nine o'clock."

The clerk hitched uneasily. It was evident to him that Donaldson had been drinking, and had the usual morning-after reluctance about admitting it. The night telephone operator had said that he had acted queer. However, as long as the man was n't dead this did n't concern him.

"Sorry the mistake was made, sir," he replied, anxious now to conciliate the guest. "I would n't have bothered you only the lady said the call was urgent."

"Good lord, man, what call?"

"It is to ring up Miss Arsdale's house at once, sir."

"When did you get that?" demanded Donaldson, as he sprang from his bed.

"This morning, sir, at one o'clock."

In three strides Donaldson was across the room. The hotel attendants crowded one another in their efforts to get out.

Donaldson gave the number and waited, every pulse beat of time throbbing hot through his temples. She had called and been unable to rouse him, while he lay there like a yokel and dreamed of her! He conjured up visions of all sorts of disaster. The boy might have returned and--he shuddered and drew back from the suggestion. He refused to imagine. He beat a tattoo with the inane hook which summons Central.

"Number does n't answer, sir," came the reply.

"They _must_ answer! You must _make_ them answer."

Again the interminable wait; again the dead reply. He hung up the receiver. The hallucinations which swarmed through his brain taken in connection with the meaningless talk of the hotel employees made him fear an instant for his sanity.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and devoted five minutes to the concentration of his mind upon the fact that he must be cool, must be steady. Else he would be of no use to any one. He must be deliberate.

Then he dressed himself with complete self-possession.

When he came down into the lobby he noticed with some astonishment the business-like appearance of the place for Sunday morning. The clerk glanced at him curiously as he approached. Donaldson spoke with exaggerated slowness and precision.

"I wish," he said, "that you would kindly make a careful note of any messages which may come to me to-day. Your error of this morning--"

He stopped as his eye caught the calendar, and its big black numeral.

It read Monday, May 27. He looked from the calendar to the clerk.

"Have n't you made a mistake?" Donaldson asked.

"No, sir. Shall I send a boy with you to the Turkish baths, sir?"

Then the truth dawned upon him; he had lost in sleep one whole precious day!

And the girl--

CHAPTER XIV

_Consequences_

The driver threw on his high speed after a promise that his fine would be paid and ten dollars over should they be stopped. He made the house in fifteen minutes and was lucky enough not to pa.s.s a policeman.

Donaldson jumping out bade him wait for further orders.

Donaldson received no response to his ring. He tried the latch and found the door locked. On a run he skirted the house to the rear. The back door was open. He pushed through into the cold kitchen, through this into the dining room, and so into the hall. There was no sign either of the servant or of the girl herself. He was now thoroughly alarmed.

As he ran up the stairs he was confronted by what he took to be an old witch in a purple wrapper. She barred his way in a decidedly militant manner, her sunken black eyes flashing anger. She seemed about to spring at him.

"Bien," she croaked, "qui diable are you?"

He paused.

"You are Marie?" he demanded.

"Bien, and you?"

A voice came from a room leading from the hall. "Marie, who is it? Is it Ben?"

"I know not who it is," Marie shouted back; "but if he comes up another step I will tear out his eyes."

"Miss Arsdale," called Donaldson, "is anything the trouble? It is I--Donaldson."

"You!"

Her voice, which had at first sounded weary, as the voice of one who has waited a long while, gathered strength.

"It is all right, Marie," she called. "This--this is my friend."

Marie relaxed and gripped the banister for support. She was weak.

"I have never seen him before," she challenged.

There was a movement at the door.

"No, you have never seen him. Come here a moment, Marie."