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Updated: June 2, 2025
Finding him at the hotel had done half, his arguments and manner the rest. And during the drive back his explanation of Chrystie's disappearance had retained a consoling plausibility. She held to it fiercely, conned it over, tried to force herself to see the girl impishly bent on a foolish practical joke.
There was a moment's pause, then the chair creaked under a movement of Chrystie's, and her voice came very quiet. "Lorry, do you like Boye Mayer?" Lorry, studying the effect of the hat, did not answer with any special interest. The Perfect Nugget had lost all novelty for her. He came to the house now and then, was a help in their entertainments, and was always considerate and polite that was all.
She lingered, moving the ornaments about on the bureau, still hunting for the letter, and muttering low to herself, "It doesn't matter. Those things don't matter" then in a voice suddenly tremulous "they've left no letter. They've left nothing to tell me if Chrystie's back and where they've gone to." His hand on her arm drew her toward the door. "Lorry, dear, there's no good doing this.
It took him some minutes to recover, during which he stood rooted, only his head moving as he watched them borne into the foyer, there caught in merging side currents and carried toward the main entrance. It was not till they were almost at the door, Chrystie's high blonde crest glistening above lower and less splendid ones, that he came to life.
"Chrystie's at San Mateo," Aunt Ellen quavered. "She's all right there. She's with the Barlows." The man in the doorway of his wrecked drugstore laughed sardonically at her request to use the phone. All the wires were broken you couldn't telephone any more than you could fly. Everything was out of commission.
His senses, dormant and unobserving, permitted the memory to attain a lifelike accuracy and the figure was presented to his inward eye with photographic clearness. Very still in the interest of this unprovoked recollection, he saw again the haggard face with its lowering expression, and remembered Chrystie's question about recognizing the man.
At the railway office he bought the two passage tickets to Reno, his own section and Chrystie's stateroom, and even the amount of money he had to disburse did not diminish his sense of a prospering good fortune. From there he went to the office of the man who owed him the gambling debt and encountered a check.
Lorry was disapproving her sister's carelessness about money always shocked her and offered to take charge of it till Chrystie came back. There had to be another crop of lies, and Chrystie's face was beaded with perspiration, her voice shaking, as she bent over her trunk.
They could take this, and though it was a day train there would be little chance of their being noticed, as the denizens of Chrystie's world and his own always traveled by the faster Overland Flyer. As he saw her approaching across the plaza his uneasy eye discerned from afar the fact that she was perturbed. Her face was anxious, her long swinging step even more rapid than usual.
Mayer had to resume his conversation with the blood drumming in his ears, uplift Chrystie's flagging spirit, and shift their engagement to another day. When it was over he fell on the sofa, limp and exhausted. He lay there till dinner time, thinking over what Pancha had said, and what she could do, assuring himself it was only bluff, the impotent threatenings of a discarded woman.
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