Chapter XXXIX

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."