“I will try not to,” said Dorothy.

Soon Miss Bell returned.  Her face was flushed and she appeared greatly excited.

“That man Morrison has been seen,” she said to the other nurse.  “And two more Mary Harriwells have also been seen.  Strange thing how many girls can get demented when one is looked for.  But the man—­they say he is not safe.”

“Oh, he’s the greatest case we ever had here.  He kept us all busy as his audience.  He’s stage-struck, you know,” said the other.

“Have you heard anything of a girl named Tavia Travers?” asked Dorothy timidly.  “It was searching for her that brought about all this trouble, and I wonder have they found her yet.”

“Tavia Travers,” repeated Miss Bell.  “A girl who says she is Tavia Travers was seen going along the road with the supposed Mary Harriwell, and of course if she is helping her hide, she may be arrested.  Is she a friend of yours?”

“Yes,” sighed Dorothy.  Then she fell to thinking how terrible it all was.

“It began the day we had the hay wagon accident,” she decided.  “The moment that man crossed our path he—­left his shadow, as dear father would say.  Well, to-morrow I must be set free again.”

The nurses were talking quietly together.  A shuffling in the hall disturbed them.

“A new patient?” asked Dorothy.

“No, likely an old one returned,” was all the information she got.

CHAPTER XXII

THE CLEW

“I cannot go another step,” sighed the girl with Tavia, just as Morrison passed.

“Hush!” cautioned Tavia.  “I would rather die than have him see us!  I simply cannot stand the thoughts of it all, and on his account.”

They had succeeded in getting behind a huge tree at the side of the path.  The man sauntered along and stopped within five feet of them.

The sick girl was cringing with pain.  The injured foot became more painful every moment.

“What is he looking for?” whispered Tavia.  “If he only——­”

“There’s some one else coming,” said Molly.  “I hear voices.”

“Yes.  A crowd of men!  They must not see us,” declared Tavia.  “Oh, they are in uniform!  They are after some one!”

“Me!” moaned Molly.  “Oh, don’t let them take me!  I must stay with you.  I can get help——­”

They crouched down in the deep grass.  The man out on the path was still there, beating a tree with his stick.  He did not seem to notice the approaching crowd.

The strangers were up to him now.

“That’s him!” the girls heard them say.  “That’s Morrison.”

“Who are you?” demanded the queer man.

“Well, we are just friends,” said a tall man with a gold-trimmed cap.  “We have been looking for you.  Won’t you come over to the hotel and stay for the night?”

“Not much,” replied Morrison.  “I never go into hotels—­I only go on the legitimate stage.  I was never a cheap actor.”