But she wouldn't give him time to finish.

"Mr. Mayer, you've got to tell me where she is. I won't leave here
till you do."

He had always felt and disliked a quality of cool reasonableness in
this girl. Now he saw a fighting courage, a thing he had never guessed
under that gentle exterior, and he liked it even less. Had he followed
his inclination he would have treated her with the rough brutality he
had awarded Pancha, but he had to keep his balance and discover how
much she knew.

"Miss Alston, we're at cross-purposes. We'd come to a better
understanding if I knew what you're talking about. You spoke of finding
out something tonight. If you'll tell me what it is I'll be able to
answer you more intelligently."

She thrust her hand into her belt, drew out a folded paper and handed
it to him.

"_That._ I found it when I came back from the opera."

He recognized the writing at once, and before he was halfway through his
rage against Pancha was boiling. When he had finished he could not trust
his voice, and staring at the paper, he heard her say:

"I've known for some time Chrystie was troubled and not herself, and this
afternoon when I saw her go I _knew_ something was wrong. She looked ill;
she could hardly speak to me. And then _that_ came, and I telephoned to
the Barlows'--the place she was going. She wasn't there, they'd never