"Do I understand that Philip Rochester is out of town?" inquired Mrs.

Brewster. "Why, I had an appointment with him to-morrow."

"He's gone and left no address that I can find," explained Parker.

"Thank you, Miss McIntyre; good evening," and the busy reporter hurried away.

There was a curious expression in Mrs. Brewster's eyes, but she dropped her gaze on her finger bowl too quickly for Clymer to a.n.a.lyze its meaning.

"What can have taken Mr. Rochester out of town?" she asked. The question was not addressed to any one in particular, but Colonel McIntyre answered it, as he did most of the widow's remarks.

"Dry Washington," he explained. "It isn't the first trip Philip has made to Baltimore since the 'dry' law has been in force, eh, Clymer?"

"No, and it won't be his last," was the banker's response. "What's the matter, Miss McIntyre?" as Barbara pushed back her chair.

"I feel a little faint," she stammered. "The air here is--is stifling.

If you don't mind, father, I'll take the car and drive home."

"I'll come with you," announced Mrs. Brewster, rising hurriedly; and as she turned solicitously to aid Barbara she caught Colonel McIntyre's admiring glance and his whispered thanks.

Outside the cafe Clymer discovered that the McIntyre limousine was not to be found, and, cautioning Barbara and the widow to remain where they were, he went back into the cafe in search of Colonel McIntyre, who had stayed behind to pay his bill.

A sudden exodus from the cafe as other diners came out to get their cars, separated Barbara from Mrs. Brewster just as the former caught sight of her father's limousine coming around McPherson Square. Not waiting to see what had become of her companion, Barbara started up the sidewalk intent on catching their chauffeur's attention. As she stood by the curb, a figure brushed by her and a paper was deftly slipped inside her hand.

Barbara wheeled about abruptly. She stood alone, except for several elaborately dressed women and their companions some yards away who were indulging in noisy talk as they hurried along. At that moment the McIntyre limousine stopped at the curb and the chauffeur opened the door.

"Take me home, Harris," she ordered. "And then come back for Mrs.

Brewster and father. I don't feel well--hurry."

"Very good, miss," and touching his cap the chauffeur swung his car up Fifteenth Street.

The limousine had turned into Ma.s.sachusetts Avenue before Barbara switched on the electric lamp in the car and opened the note so mysteriously given to her. She read feverishly the few lines it contained,

Dear Helen: The coroner will call an inquest. Secrete letter "B."

The note was unsigned but it was in the handwriting of Philip Rochester.

CHAPTER VII. THE RED SEAL

The gloomy morning, with leaden skies and intermittent rain, reflected Harry Kent's state of mind. He could not fix his attention on the business letters which Sylvester placed before him; instead, his thoughts reverted to the scene in Rochester's and Turnbull's apartment the night before, the elusive visitor he had found there on his arrival, his interview with Detective Ferguson, and above all the handkerchief, saturated with amyl nitrite, and bearing the small embroidered letter "B"--the initial, insignificant in size, but fraught with dire possibilities if, as Ferguson hinted, Turnbull had been put to death by an over-dose of the drug. "B "--Barbara; Barbara--"B"--his mind rang the changes; pshaw! other names than Barbara began with "B."

"Shall I transcribe your notes, Mr. Kent?" asked Sylvester, and Kent awakened from his reverie, discovered that he had scrawled the name Barbara and capital "Bs" on the writing pad. He tore off the sheet and crumpled it into a small ball. "No, my notes are unimportant." Kent unlocked his desk and took some ma.n.u.script from one of the drawers.

"Make four copies of this brief, then call up the printer and ask how soon he will complete the work on hand. Has Mr. Clymer telephoned?"

"Not this morning." Sylvester rose, papers in hand. "There has been a Mr. Parker of the Post who telephones regularly once an hour to ask for Mr. Rochester's address and when he is expected at the office." He paused and looked inquiringly at Kent. "What shall I say the next time he calls?"

"Switch him on my phone," briefly. "That is all now, Sylvester. I must be in court by noon, so have the brief copied by eleven."

"Yes, sir," and Sylvester departed, only to return a second later. "Miss McIntyre to see you," he announced, and stood aside to allow the girl to enter.

It was the first time Kent had seen Helen since the tragedy of Tuesday, and as he advanced to greet her he noted with concern her air of distress and the troubled look in her eyes. Her composed manner was obviously only maintained by the exertion of self-control, for the hand she offered him was unsteady.

"You are so kind," she murmured as he placed a chair for her. "Babs told me you have promised your aid, and so I have come--" she pressed one hand to her side as if she found breathing difficult and Kent, reaching for his pitcher of ice water which stood near at hand, filled a tumbler and gave it to her.

"Take a little," he coaxed as she moved as if to refuse the gla.s.s. "Why didn't you telephone and I would have called on you; in fact, I planned to run in and see you this afternoon.

"It is wiser to have our talk here," she replied. Setting down the empty gla.s.s she gazed about the office and her face brightened at sight of a safe standing in one corner. "Is that yours or Philip's?" she asked, pointing to it.

"The safe? Oh, it's for our joint use, owned by the firm, you know,"

explained Kent, somewhat puzzled by her eagerness.

"Do you keep your private papers there, as well as the firm's?"

"Oh, yes; Philip has retained one section and I the other." Kent walked over and threw open the ma.s.sive door which he had unlocked on entering the office and left ajar. "Would you like to see the arrangements of the compartments?"

Without answering Helen crossed the room and stood by his side.

"Which is Philip's section?" she asked.

"This," and Kent touched the side of the safe.

Helen turned around and inspected the office; the outer door through which she had entered was closed, as were also the private door leading directly into the outside corridor, and the one opening into the closet. Convinced that they were really alone, she took from her leather hand-bag a white envelope and handed it to Kent.

"Please put this in Philip's compartment," she said, and as he hesitated, she added pleadingly, "Please do it, Harry, and ask no questions."

Kent looked at her wonderingly; the girl was obviously laboring under intense excitement of some sort, which might at any moment break into hysteria. Bottling up his curiosity, he stooped down in front of the safe.

"Certainly I will put the envelope away for you," he agreed cheerily.

"Wait, though, I must find if Philip left the key of the compartment on his bunch." He took from his pocket the keys he had found so useful the night before, and selected one that resembled the key to his own compartment, and inserted it in the lock. To his surprise he discovered the compartment was already unlocked. Without comment he pulled open the inside drawer and started to lay the white envelope on top of the papers already there, when he hesitated.

"The envelope is unaddressed, Helen," he remarked, extending it toward her. She waved it back.

"It is sealed with red wax," she stated. "That is all that is necessary for identification."

Kent turned over the envelope--the flap was held down securely with a large red seal which bore the one letter "B." He dropped the envelope inside the drawer, locked the compartment, and closed the door of the safe.

"Let us talk," he suggested and led the way back to their chairs.

"Helen," he began, after she was seated. "There is nothing I will not do for your sister Barbara," his manner grew earnest. "I--" he flushed; baring his feelings to another, no matter how sympathetic that other was, was foreign to his reserved nature. "I love her beyond words to express. I tell you this to--to--gain your trust."

"You already have it, Harry!" Impulsively Helen extended her hand, and he held it in a firm clasp for a second. "Babs and I have come at once to you in our trouble."

"Yes, but you have only hinted what that trouble, was," he reminded her gently. "I cannot really aid you until you give me your full confidence."

Helen looked away from him and out of the window. The relief, which had lighted her face a moment before, had vanished. It was some minutes before she answered.

"Babs told you that I suspected Jimmie did not die from angina pectoris--" She spoke with an effort.

"Yes."