“B.” interrupted Gladys.

“B.  Edison lived here.  This young lady’s little sister is lost, and Mrs. Edison is a relative, and we thought—­”

The man made another dart.  “Don’t care what you thought,” he shouted.  “Keep your thoughts to yourself!  Get out of here!”

“Do you know where Mrs. George B. Edison lives now?” asked Wollaston, courteously, but his black eyes flashed at the man.

“No, I don’t.”

“No, we don’t,” said the young woman in pink.  “Do make them go, Tom.”

“We are perfectly willing to go,” said Wollaston.  “We have no desire to remain any longer where people are not willing to answer civil questions.”

Maria all this time had said nothing.  She was perfectly overcome with the conviction that Ida’s cousin was not there, and consequently not Evelyn.  Moreover, she was frightened at the little man’s fierce manner.  She clung to Wollaston’s arm as they retreated, but Gladys turned around and deliberately stuck her tongue out at the man and the young woman in rose.  The man slammed the door.

The three met on the stoop of the house two people in gay attire.

“Go up and see your friends that don’t know how to treat folks decent,” said Gladys.  The woman looked wonderingly at her from under the shade of a picture hat.  Her escort opened the door.  “Ten chances to one they had the kid hid somewhere,” said Gladys, so loudly that both turned and looked at her.

“Hush up,” said Wollaston.

“Well, what be you goin’ to do now?” asked Gladys.

“I am going to a drug-store, and see if I can find out where Maria’s relatives have moved to,” replied Wollaston.  He walked quite alertly now.  Maria’s discomfiture had reassured him.

They walked along a few blocks until they saw the lights of a drug-store on the corner.  Then Wollaston led them in and marched up to the directory chained to the counter.

“What’s that?” Gladys asked.  “A Bible?”

“No, it’s a directory,” Maria replied, in a dull voice.

“What do they keep it chained for?  Books don’t run away.”

“I suppose they are afraid folks will steal it.”

“My!” said Gladys, eying the big volume.  “I don’t see what on earth they’d do with it when they got it stole,” she remarked, in a low, reflective voice.

Maria leaned against the counter and waited.

Finally, Wollaston turned to her with an apologetic air.  “I can’t find any George B. here,” he said.  “You are sure it was B?”

“Yes,” replied Maria.

“Well, there’s no use,” said Wollaston.  “There is no George B. Edison in this book, anyhow.”

He came forward, and stood looking at Maria.  Maria gazed absently at the crowds passing on the street.  Gladys watched them both.

“Well,” said Gladys, presently, “you ain’t goin’ to stand here all night, be you?  What be you goin’ to do next?  Go to the police-station?”