know her voice, don’t you?  You are to tell her that I have her letter and she has nothing to worry about; that I have had charge of all her affairs in her absence; that her daughter knows of her return and wants her at once.  Tell her that I have left a letter for her—­this one.  When Miss Marteen calls up, tell her to go to her home; that her mother has come back, but has left again, and is ill; that I’m doing all in my power to find her.  Tell her to call me at once on the long distance telephone to Washington, at the New Willard.  Wherever I have to be I’ll arrange that I can be called at once.  Do you understand?

“Dr. Balys will be here in a few moments.  He will have the hospitals canvassed.  If you locate her, Brencherly, send my doctor to her at once.  Get her to her own apartment, and don’t let her talk.  I want you to pick a man to watch the morgue; to look up every case of reported suicide that by any chance might be Mrs. Marteen—­here or in other cities.”  Gard felt the blood leave his heart as he said the words, though there was no quaver in his voice.  “If they should find her, don’t let her identity be known if there is any chance of concealing it, not until you reach me.  Don’t let Miss Marteen know.  Put another man on the hotel arrivals.  She left St. Augustine—­Here—­” He—­jotted down times and dates on a slip.  “Work on that.  Keep the police off.  I’ll have Balys stay here, unless he locates her in any of the hospitals.  My secretary is yours; and there are half a dozen telephones in the house; you can keep ’em all going.  But, mind, there must be no leak.  Watch her apartment, too.  Question her maid up there.  Of course that letter on the table there might interest you, but I think I had better trust you, since I make you my deputy.  This is no small matter, Brencherly.  Honesty is the best policy—­and there are rewards and punishments.”

The strain of grief and anxiety had set its mark on Gard’s face.  His deadly earnestness and evident effort at self-control sent a thrill of pitying admiration through the detective’s hardened indifference.  A rush of loyalty filled his heart; he wanted to help, without thought of reward or punishment.  He felt hot shame that his calling had deserved the suspicion his employer cast upon it.

“I’ll do my honest best,” he said with such dear-eyed sincerity that Gard smiled wanly and held out his hand.

“Thank you,” he said simply.

The interview with the doctor lasted another half-hour.  Time seemed to fly.  Another hour and he must leave to others the quest that his soul demanded.  Unquestioning and determined, Denning took him once more in the limousine.  They were silent during the drive to Victor Mahr’s address.  Gard descended before the house, leaving Denning in the car.

“Don’t worry,” he said as he closed the door of the automobile.  “I’ll not be long; I give you my word.”

Denning smiled.  “That’s all that’s wanted in Washington, old man.  You’ve got a quarter of an hour to spare.”