stenographer, and—I still have friends in his office."
"Then there is something you want to tell me that you cannot tell in the presence of the others?"
The woman turned, her large eyes meeting his with an almost frightened expression, but she recovered herself immediately. "No, Mr. Trant; it is because I know that he—my husband—that no one is making any search, or trying to recover Edward—except through watching me."
"That is true, Mrs. Eldredge," the psychologist helped her.
"You must not do that too, Mr. Trant!" she leaned toward him appealingly. "You must search for the boy—my husband's boy! You must not waste time in questioning me, or in trying me with your new methods! That is why I came to see you—to tell you, on my word of honor, that I know nothing of it!"
"I should feel more certain if you would be frank with me," Trant returned, "and tell me what happened on that afternoon before the child disappeared."
"We went motoring," the woman replied.
"Before you went motoring, Mrs. Eldredge," the psychologist pressed, "what happened?"
She shrank suddenly, and turned upon him eyes filled with unconquerable terror. He waited, but she did not answer.
"Did not some one tell you," the psychologist took a shot half in the dark, "or accuse you that you were taking the child out in order to get rid of him?"
