"No," replied Jack, peremptorily. In this spy theory, however, he had no faith whatsoever. “Where is my beautiful wife?” He bellowed from the downstairs. No lights were flashing, and a single squad car was not a cause for alert, as sometimes the Becks allowed squads to use their drive to watch for speeders and other reckless drivers. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion. He tried again. She kept her face downcast. She had dreaded the beginning of this hour. For days I have been undecided as to whether I would come to you or no.
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