One afternoon, in the week following the disappearance,--or, as Larcher
preferred to call it, non-appearance,--that gentleman, having just sat
down in a north-bound Sixth Avenue car, glanced over the first page of
an evening paper--one of the yellow brand--which he had bought a minute
before. All at once he was struck in the face, metaphorically speaking,
by a particular set of headlines. He held his breath, and read the
following opening paragraph:
"The return of George A. Bagley from Chicago last night puts a new phase
on the disappearance of Murray Davenport, the song-writer, who has not
been seen since Wednesday of last week at his lodging-house,--East
----th Street. Mr. Bagley would like to know what became of a large
amount of cash which he left with the missing man for certain purposes
the previous night on leaving suddenly for Chicago. He says that when he
called this morning on brokers, bankers, and others to whom the money
should have been handed over, he found that not a cent of it had been
disposed of according to orders. Davenport had for some years frequently
acted as a secretary or agent for Bagley, and had handled many thousands
of dollars for the latter in such a manner as to gain the highest
confidence."
There was a half-column of details, which Larcher read several times over
on the way up-town. When he entered Edna's drawing-room the two girls
were sitting before the fire. At the first sight of his face, Edna
sprang to her feet, and Florence's lips parted.
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