"I rather think he misunderstands," the handsome woman interrupted.
"You've not told him, John, who I am."

"You are mistaken," replied Uncle Richard with a horrible suavity; "I
understand enough. That poor child telephoned to me not twenty minutes
ago that her husband was injured, perhaps mortally, and implored my
help. I left my dinner to come to his assistance and I find
him--here--and thus."

"Twenty minutes ago?" yelled John, leaping upon his new relative and
quite disregarding that gentleman's last words. "Where was she? Did she
tell you where to look for her?"

"So, sir," stormed Uncle Richard, "the poor, deluded child has left you
and turned to her faithful old uncle! Allow me to say that you're a
blackguard, sir, and to wish you good-bye."

"If you dare to move," stormed John Blake, "until you tell me where my
wife is, I'll strangle you. Now listen to me. This is Mrs. Bob Blake,
wife of my cousin Robert. She's an old friend of Marjorie's. We had a
half engagement to meet here this week. Bob is due any minute, but
Marjorie is lost. There is only one record of a Blake in to-day's
register and that's this room and this lady--when Marjorie left me at
the ferry she was coming here, straight. I've been to all the possible
hotels. She is nowhere. You say she telephoned to you. From where?"

"She didn't say," answered Uncle Richard, shame-facedly, and added still
more dejectedly, "I didn't ask. She said in a letter her aunt received
this morning that she was coming here. So I inferred that she was here."