Royce grasped the arms of his chair convulsively, and remained for
a moment speechless under the shock. Then he swung around toward me.
"Come here, Lester," he said hoarsely. "I needed you once before, and
I need you now. This touches me so closely I can't think
consecutively. You _will_ help, won't you?"
There was an appeal in his face which showed his sudden weakness--an
appeal there was no resisting, even had I not, myself, been deeply
interested in the case.
"Gladly," I answered, from the depths of my heart, seeing how
overwrought he was. "I'll help to the very limit of my power, Mr.
Royce."
He sank back into his chair again, and breathed a long sigh.
"I knew you would," he said. "Get the story from Thompson, will you?"
I brought a chair, and sat down by the old butler.
"You have been in Mr. Holladay's family a great many years, haven't
you, Mr. Thompson?" I asked, to give him opportunity to compose
himself.
"Yes, a great many years, sir--nearly forty, I should say."
"Before Miss Holladay's birth, then?"
"Oh, yes, sir; long before. Just before his marriage, Mr. Holladay
bought the Fifth Avenue house he lived in ever since, and I was
employed, then, sir, as an under-servant."
"Mr. Holladay and his wife were very happy together, weren't they?" I
questioned.
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