The two women in the firelight glanced at each other in mute
significance. Then Lillian urged the operator at Shaftesville to the
utmost diligence. "Find him wherever he is. Send special messenger. Get
him to the 'phone at once. Emergency call! Make them understand that at
the Glaston exchange."
Mrs. Marable, a little, precise, wrinkled old lady, with a brown taffeta
gown and a Marie Stuart lace cap, cherished the traditions of the old
school of propriety, and the controlling influence proved strong even
amidst this chaos of excitements. As Mrs. Royston returned in a state of
absolute exaltation to the fireside, "Lillian," said Mrs. Marable coldly,
"the officers of the law are the proper parties for you to appeal to, if
you are going to pursue this obsession. Why should you call up that--man?
Why don't you call the sheriff of the county?"
"Because I want Julian Bayne. I believe in him! I can trust him! It is
almost like the hand of omnipotence--there is help in the very thought of
him.
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