"Oh, that's a whip-handle clip from a very particular friend of yours," responded Van carelessly. "Ike Slump."
Mrs. Fairbanks shivered at the mention of that detested individual. Ralph was eagerly inquisitive.
"And about Mrs. Davis?" he asked hurriedly.
"The woman who lived here—the photograph woman?"
"Yes, Van. Do you know anything about her?"
"I fancy I do. She has been kidnapped."
"We feared that!" murmured Mrs. Fairbanks anxiously.
"Yes," nodded Van briskly, "it looks that way, and I have had a lively time of it. Did you tell your mother about meeting me here last night, Ralph?"
"No, Van."
"Then I will tell her now. You see, Mrs. Fairbanks, I was caught by Ralph peeking into this very room, last night. I explained to him how it was. I had an old photograph of a woman who turns out to be this Mrs. Davis. I had been instructed to locate her."
"By whom, Van?" inquired the astonished Mrs. Fairbanks.
"It's a secret, it is not my business in a way,"
