Thompson called the shipyard first.  In the glow of a sunny September morning he felt that he must have imagined Tommy’s attitude.  He was a fair-minded man, and he gave Tommy the benefit of the doubt.

But he failed to get in touch with Tommy.  A voice informed him politely that Mr. Ashe had left town that morning and would be gone several days.

Thompson hung up the receiver.  For at least five minutes he sat debating with himself.  Then he took it down again.

“Give me Seymour 365L,” he said to Central.

“Hello.”

“Is Mr. Carr at home?”

“You have the wrong number,” he was answered, and he heard the connection break.

He tried again, and once more the same voice, this time impatiently, said, “Wrong number.”

“Wait,” Thompson said quickly.  “Is this Seymour 365L, corner of Larch and First?”

“Yes.”

“I beg pardon for bothering you.  I’m just back from overseas and I’m rather anxious to locate Mr. Carr—­Samuel A. Carr.  This was his home two years ago.”

“Just a minute,” the feminine voice had recovered its original sweetness.  “Perhaps I can help you.  Hold the line.”

Thompson waited.  Presently he was being addressed again.

“My husband believes Mr. Carr still owns this place.  We lease through an agent, however, Lyng and Salmon, Credit Foncier Building.  Probably they will be able to give you the required information.”

“Thanks,” Thompson said.

He found Lyng and Salmon’s number in the telephone book.  But the lady was mistaken.  Carr had sold the place.  Nor did Lyng and Salmon know his whereabouts.

Tommy would know.  But Tommy was out of town.  Still there were other sources of information.  A man like Carr could not make his home in a place no larger than Vancouver and drop out of sight without a ripple.  Thompson stuck doggedly to the telephone, sought out numbers and called them up.  In the course of an hour he was in possession of several facts.  Sam Carr was up the coast, operating a timber and land undertaking for returned soldiers.  The precise location he could not discover, beyond the general one of Toba Inlet.

They still maintained a residence in town, an apartment suite.  From the caretaker of that he learned that Sophie spent most of her time with her father, and that their coming and going was uncertain and unheralded.

The latter facts were purely incidental, save one.  Tommy Ashe had that morning cleared the Alert for a coastwise voyage.

Sam Carr and Sophie were up the coast.  Tommy was up the coast.  Thompson sat for a time in deep study.  Very well, then.  He, too, would journey up the coast.  He had not come six thousand miles to loaf in a hotel lobby and wear out shoe leather on concrete walks.

CHAPTER XXVIII

FAIR WINDS