But I'm going to know. I'm going to find out. You're
afraid of the papers. I'm not. I'll give the whole story to them
to-morrow. I'll tell that you insulted him, Conward, and how you stood
there, a grinning, gaping coward under the muzzle of his gun. How I
wish I had a photograph of it," she exclaimed, with a little hysterical
laugh. "It would look fine on the front page." She broke into peals
of laughter and rushed up the stairs.
In the morning she was very sober and pale, and marks of distress and
sleeplessness were furrowed in her face. She greeted her mother with
cold civility, and left her breakfast untouched. She gave part of her
morning to Charlie; it was saving balm to her to have some one upon
whom she could pour affection. Then she went to the telephone. She
called Dave's office; nothing was known of Mr. Elden; he had been
working there last night; he was not down yet. She called his
apartments; there was no answer. Then, with a bright thought, she
called the garage. Mr. Elden's car was out; had not been in at all
during the night. Then she tried a new number.
"Hello, is that the office of _The Call_? Will you let me speak to----"
Her mother interrupted almost frantically. "Irene, you are not going
to tell the papers? You mustn't do that. Think of what it means--the
disgrace--a shooting affair, almost, in our home. Think of me, your
mother----"
"I'll think of you on one consideration--that you explain what happened
last night, and tell me where Dave Elden is.
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