But the sight of him, peacefully employed in his own apartment, when she
had suspected him of being somewhere else, nefariously engaged in running
away with her sister, had so relieved her, that, in that first moment of
encounter, she was silent. Bewilderment, verging toward apology, kept her
on the threshold. Then the memory of the letter sent her over it, brought
back the realization that even if he was here by himself he must know
something of Chrystie's whereabouts.

Closing the door behind her she said:

"Mr. Mayer, I'm looking for my sister."

If that told him that she did not know where Chrystie was, it also told
that she connected him with the girl's absence. He controlled his alarm
and drew his shaken faculties into order.

"Looking for your sister!" he repeated. "Looking for her _here_?"

"Yes." She advanced a step, her eyes sternly fixed on him. He did not
like the look, there was question and accusation in it, but he was able
to inject a dignified surprise into his answer.

"I don't understand you, Miss Alston. Why should you come to _me_ at this
hour to find your sister?"

He did it well, wounded pride, hostility under unjust suspicion, strong
in his voice.

"Chrystie's gone," she answered. "She told me she was going to friends,