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Rh ing his absence. "Nothing stirring in there; been sulking ever since the night before last."

"Has he communicated with anyone outside the house or received any messages?"

"No. He sends his trays away almost untouched after each meal; and when Miss Meade came to the door he refused to let her in. Moreover, from that little room there I can hear him walking the floor most of the night. He hasn't taken the least notice of me; don't seem to care whether I'm on the job or not. It looks as if he was waiting for something to drop on him."

"Well, he won't have to wait any longer."

Odell knocked upon the door, and after a perceptible pause slow, reluctant footsteps sounded within, and Gene appeared on the threshold. His face was pale and drawn, and the circles beneath his sunken eyes told of sleepless hours; but to the detective's keen gaze there seemed to be a new look of strength and resolution about his weak mouth.

For a moment he stood eyeing Odell steadily but quite without animosity. Then he asked quietly:

"Do you want me?" There was a significance beyond the mere words in his tone, and the detective shook his head smilingly as he replied:

"I want only to have a little talk with you, Mr. Chalmers, if I may."

"Come in. Sergeant." Gene held the door wide, and Odell walked past him to a chair by the table. "I'll tell you anything you want to know now."

"You have not heard from your friend Farley Drew since