“As I say, she decided upon impersonating Christie here, hoping in this way to learn more regarding Hawley's plans. We had discovered that the two were to meet after the evening performance at the stage door of the Trocadero. I escorted Hope there, dressed as near like Miss Maclaire as possible, and left her inside the vestibule waiting for 'Black Bart' to appear. At the head of the alley I ran into Fairbain, told him something of the circumstances, and persuaded him to escort Miss Christie back to the hotel. He was not very hard to persuade. Well, Hawley came, and Hope met him; they went out of the alley-way together arm in arm, talking pleasantly, and turned this way toward the hotel. The doctor and I both saw and heard them. I was delayed not to exceed two minutes, speaking a final word to Fairbain, and when I reached the street they had disappeared. I have hunted them everywhere without finding a trace--I have even been through the resorts. She has not returned to the hotel, and I burst in upon you here hoping that Miss Maclaire might have some information.”
She shook her head, and Waite, glaring impotently at the two of them, swore sharply.
“Good God, man! my girl! Hope, alone with that damn villain. Come on, Sheriff; we've got to find her. Wait though!” and he strode almost menacingly across the room. “First, I want to know who the devil you are?”
Keith straightened up, looking directly into the fierce questioning eyes.
“I have told you my name--Jack Keith,” he replied, quietly. “Doctor Fairbain knows something of me, but for your further information I will add that when we met before I was Captain Keith, Third Virginia Cavalry, and bearing despatches from Longstreet to Stonewall Jackson.”
The gruff old soldier, half-crazed by the news of his daughter's peril, the gleam of his eyes still revealing uncontrolled temper, stared at the younger face fronting him; then slowly he held out his hand.
“Keith--Keith,” he repeated, as though bringing back the name with an effort. “By God, that's so--old Jefferson Keith's boy--killed at Antietam. And you know Hope?”
He looked about as though dazed, and the sheriff broke in not unkindly.
“Well, Waite, if we are going to search for your daughter we better be at it. Come on, all of you; Miss Maclaire will be safe enough here alone.”