Everet and Braine are walking down the road from the station. Everet is
talking earnestly. Braine is listening eagerly. Disappointment is
written on his face.
"You have found _no_ clew?"
"None." Everet speaks hopelessly.
"Don't speak in that tone. A woman like Helen cannot drop out of
existence without leaving some trace. What was the last you discovered?"
"I found a place where she had lived--a comfortable flat. She had lived
there--" He hesitates.
Braine says quietly:
"Say it."
"With a man called McPhelan--you know who he is, I presume."
"Good God!"
Braine stops in the road and looks helplessly into Everet's face. He
moans:
"Don't say that, Everet! Don't say that! Not Helen! It was not she. It
was some other."
"And after all, dear Braine, what is the difference? A Sixth Ward
politician, or a member of the cabinet."
He has thrown his arm across Braine's shoulders. His tone is one of
tenderest sympathy, but there is a certain sternness in it.
Braine's strong body trembles like a weak child's. He says, hoarsely:
"I must go and find her. I _must_, Everet."
"No, no. No one could do more than I can in such a matter. I will look
until I find her, or know that she is dead. I will obey your least
direction, your slightest wish in this, but grant what I ask of you.
Don't go to find her. Think, Braine! Think what it would be to learn
such things from strangers; think what it would be to learn the details
of so pitiful a life from those who cared nothing for your grief. It is
right you should know them--but hear them from me. I love you. I loved
Helen--the Helen _you_ have known. You surely can bear these things
better from me."
"Yes, yes. God bless you, Everet. You're the truest friend a man ever
had. But promise me, promise me you will leave no stone unturned?"
"I promise."