“Judge for yourself.  Maybe you can help me; nobody else can.”  Bob recounted the story of the house-party; how he and Lorelei had met Bert Hayman; how, once in the company of his old friends, he had succumbed to his weakness, and how he had caroused most of Saturday night.  He told Pope that he could remember little of Sunday’s occurrences, having been plunged in an alcoholic stupor so benumbing that not until late that evening had he fully grasped the fact that Lorelei had gone.  Even then he was too befuddled to act.  Neither Mrs. Fennell nor her husband could give him any help, and Bert Hayman, who had been with Lorelei all Saturday evening, had no explanation to give of her departure.  Bob remembered in passing that Bert had been confined to his room all day Sunday as the result of a fall or an accident of some sort.  Monday morning, while still suffering from the effects of his spree, Bob had returned to the city to find his home deserted, and for twenty-four sleepless hours now he had been hunting for his wife.  He had called up Lorelei’s family, but they could give him no clue; nor could he find trace of her in any other quarter.  So, as a last resort before calling in the police, he had come to Pope.  When he had finished his somewhat muddled tale he stared at the critic with a look of dumb appeal.

Campbell began in a matter-of-fact, positive tone.  “She’s altogether too healthy to think of suicide; rest easy on that score.  You’re weak enough emotionally to do such a thing, but not she.  Besides, why should she?  I can’t imagine that any act of yours could very deeply offend anybody, even your wife.  However—­” He studied briefly.  “Have you been to see Miss Demorest?”

“Sure!  Adoree hasn’t seen her.”

“Possibly!” Pope eyed his caller speculatively.  “So you decided to jimmy her into society, eh!  Who was at the party?  Oh, Lord!” he exclaimed, as Bob muttered over the list of names.  “How did she compare with those sacred cows?”

“Oh, great!  The men went crazy over her—­I knew they would.”

“But how did the women treat her?”

“Why, all right.  I didn’t notice anything.”

“What?  No, of course you didn’t.  You were probably too drunk to notice much.”  Bob flushed.  “You introduced her to the fastest people in New York, then left her entirely to her own resources while you went away and made an ass of yourself.  Well, something must have happened to alarm her, and, since you were too maudlin to be of any assistance, she evidently took the bit in her teeth.  I can’t blame her.  For Heaven’s sake, why did you set her in with that crowd?  If you wanted to take her slumming, why didn’t you hire a guide and go into the red-light district?”

Bob defended himself listlessly.  “That’s the only crowd I know; it’s the only set that’s open to a Pittsburg furnace-man’s son.  Those people aren’t so bad; I guess they’re no worse than the rest.  If a person goes looking for nastiness he can find it nearly anywhere.  I never did—­and I never saw anything very scandalous around that bunch.”