He hadn't any hat on, and he was in his riding clothes. He
didn't carry anything with him. I know in reason he wasn't intending
to stay."
This information sent MacPherson hurrying to the Hardwick home. Dinner
was over. The master of the house conferred with him a moment in the
vestibule, then opened the door into the little sitting room and
asked abruptly:
"When was the last time any of you saw Gray Stoddard?"
His sister-in-law screamed faintly, then cowered in her chair and stared
at him mutely. But Mrs. Hardwick as yet noted nothing unusual.
"Yesterday evening," she returned placidly. "Don't you remember, Jerome,
he was here at the Lyric reception?"
"Oh, I remember well enough," said Hardwick knitting his brows. "I
thought some of you might have seen him since then. He's missing."
"Missing!" echoed Lydia Sessions with a note of terror in her tones.
Now Mrs. Hardwick looked startled.
"But, Jerome, I think you're inconsiderate," she began, glancing
solicitously at her sister. "Under the circumstances, it seems to me you
might have made your announcement more gently--to Lydia, anyhow. Never
mind, dearie--there's nothing in it to be frightened at."
"I'm not frightened," whispered Lydia Sessions through white lips that
belied her assertion. Hardwick looked impatiently from his sister-in-law
to his wife.
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