He went out day before yesterday at nine o'clock in the
morning, and that's the last we've seen or heard of him. He didn't carry
any grip, or have his trunk sent for; he took nothing but a parcel
wrapped in brown paper."
"Well, I can't understand it. It's after one o'clock now--If he doesn't
soon turn up--What do you think about it?"
"I don't know what to think about it. I'm afraid it's a case of
mysterious disappearance--that's what I think!"
CHAPTER VIII.
MR. LARCHER INQUIRES
Larcher and the landlady stood gazing at each other in silence. Larcher
spoke first.
"He's always prompt to the minute. He may be coming now."
The young man went out to the stoop and looked up and down the street.
But no familiar figure was in sight. He turned back to the landlady.
"Perhaps he left a note for me on the table," said Larcher. "I have the
freedom of his room, you know."
"Go up and see, then. I'll go with you."
The landlady, in climbing the stairs, used a haste very creditable in a
person of her amplitude. Davenport's room appeared the same as ever.
None of his belongings that were usually visible had been packed away or
covered up. Books and manuscript lay on his table. But there was nothing
addressed to Larcher or anybody else.
"It certainly looks as if he'd meant to come back soon," remarked the
landlady.
"It certainly does." Larcher's puzzled eyes alighted on the table drawer.
He gave an inward start, reminded of the money in Davenport's possession
at their last meeting.
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