"Did the
lovely and mysterious I.O.W. ever turn up and report herself?"
Banneker's breath caught painfully in his throat.
"D'you know who she was?" pursued the other, without pause for reply to
his previous question; and still without intermission continued: "Io
Welland. _That_'s who she was. Oh, but she's a hummer! I've met her
since. Married, you know. Quick work, that marriage. There was a dam'
queer story whispered around about her starting to elope with some other
chap, and his going nearly batty because she didn't turn up, and all the
time she was wandering around in the desert until somebody picked her up
and took care of her. You ought to know something of that. It was
supposed to be right in your back-yard."
"I?" said Banneker, commanding himself with an effort; "Miss Welland
reported in with a slight injury. That's all."
One glance at him told Cressey that Banneker did indeed "know something"
of the mysterious disappearance which had so exercised a legion of busy
tongues in New York; how much that something might be, he preserved for
future and private speculation, based on the astounding perception that
Banneker was in real pain of soul. Tact inspired Cressey to say at once:
"Of course, that's all you had to consider.
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