It was Lonesome Pete who answered.

“No, Con,” he answered.  “Miss Argyl ain’t here.  Anything the matter?”

Conniston clicked up the receiver and swung upon Garton.

“It is just possible,” he said, slowly, “that she is in Crawfordsville, after all.  May have left the house already.  I can call up the store as soon as it opens up and ask if she has been there.”

Billy Jordan had entered at the last words.

“Who are you talking about?” he asked, quickly.  “Not Miss Crawford?”

“Yes.”  Conniston whirled upon him abruptly.  “Do you know where she went yesterday?”

“No, I don’t know where she went.  But as I was coming to the office I met her, just getting on her horse in front of her house, and she gave me a message for you.”

“Well, what was it?”

“‘If you see Mr. Conniston,’ she said, ’tell him that I have gone to investigate the value of the Secret.’  I don’t know what she meant—­”

“She said that!” cried Conniston, his face going white.

“But she’s all right,” Billy Jordan hastened to add.  “She’s back now.”

“You saw her?”

“No.”  He shook his head.  “But I saw the horse she was riding.  Just noticed him tied to the back fence as I came in.”

Again Conniston hurried to the cottage.  Mrs. Ridley was upon the porch.

“Miss Crawford is back?” he called to her from the street.

She shook her head.

“Not yet.  Ain’t you—­”

He did not wait to listen.  Running now, he came to the little back yard, and to a tall bay horse, saddled and bridled, standing quietly at the fence.  At first glance he thought, as Billy Jordan had thought, that the animal was tied there.  And then he saw that the bridle-reins were upon the ground, that they had been trampled upon and broken, that the two stirrups were hanging upside down in the stirrup leathers as stirrups are likely to do when a saddled horse has been running riderless.

She had been to investigate the Secret!  She had been gone all day, all night!  And now her horse had come home without her!  He dared not try to think what had happened to her; he knew that she must have dismounted while at the spring to examine the ground; he knew that there were sections of the desert alive with rattlesnakes.

The Great Work which had walked and slept with him for weeks, which had never in a single waking hour been absent from his thoughts, was forgotten as though it had never been.  The Great Work was suddenly a trifle, a nothing.  It did not matter; nothing in the wide world but one thing mattered.  Failure of the Great Work was nothing if only a slender, gray-eyed, frank-souled girl were safe.  Success, unless she were there to look into his eyes and see that he had done well, was nothing.

Unheeding Mrs. Ridley’s shrill cries, he swung about and ran back to the office.