"Where's Harry?" He kissed me and in the same breath repeated,
"Where's Harry?"

"Oh, Hobart!" I exclaimed. "What's the matter with Harry? Tell me.
It's something terrible!"

He was afraid. Plainly I could see that! There were lines of
anxiety about his eyes. He clutched me by the arm and drew me
away.

"He was to meet me here," I said. "He didn't come. He was to meet
me here! Oh, Hobart, I saw him some time ago. He was--it was not
Harry at all! Do you know anything about it?"

For a minute he stood still, looking at me. I had never seen
Hobart frightened; but at that moment there was that in his eyes
which I could not understand. He caught me by the arm and started
out almost at a run. There were many people and we dodged in and
out among them. Hobart carried a suitcase. He hailed a taxi.

I don't know how I got into the car. It was a blur. I was
frightened. Some terrible thing had occurred, and Hobart knew it.
I remember a few words spoken to the driver. "Speed, speed, no
limit; never mind the law--and Chatterton Place!" After that the
convulsive jerking over the cobbled streets, a climbing over hills
and twisted corners. And Hobart at my side. "Faster--faster," he
was saying; "faster! My lord, was there ever a car so slow! Harry!
Harry!" I could hear him breathing a prayer. Another hill; the car
turned and came suddenly to a stop! Hobart leaped out.