"There must be; only, I fear, it will take some little time to find."
"And meanwhile, Miss Holladay will be remanded! Think what that will
mean to her, Lester!"
I had thought. I was desperate as he--but to find the flaw, the weak
spot in the chain, required, I felt, a better brain than mine. I was
lost in a whirlwind of perplexities.
"Well, we must do our best," he went on more calmly, after a moment.
"I haven't lost hope yet--chance often directs these things. Besides,
at worst, I think Miss Holladay will change her mind. Whatever her
secret, it were better to reveal it than to spend a single hour in the
Tombs. She simply _must_ change her mind! And thanks, Lester, for
your thoughtfulness. You've put new life into me."
I cleared away the debris of the lunch, and a few moments later the
room began to fill again. At last the coroner and district attorney
came in together, and the former rapped for order.
"The inquest will continue," he said, "with the examination of John
Brooks, Miss Holladay's coachman."
I can give his evidence in two words. His mistress had driven directly
down the avenue to Washington Square. There she had left the carriage,
bidding him wait for her, and had continued southward into the squalid
French quarter. He had lost sight of her in a moment, and had driven
slowly about for more than two hours before she reappeared.
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