He did not respond to any of the ruses so often used to get a colored man to talk--scorn or incredulity or sternness. He was aware of nothing but his own terror, and the image in those fear-widened eyes no man could guess.
"You say a telegram came for him, Wilkson?" I asked gently. "Some one phoned it in?"
"De phone bell rung, jus' off de su'vant's rooms," he explained. "It was a message fo' Majo' Dell. 'Get him up to get dis telegram,' some white gen'lman said, so I done went to get him up. He ain't in his room. Bed not been slept in. I called and no one answered. Den I ask Mrs. Gentry--she saw him go down the hall hour ago, all dressed, and seen him turn in yo' room----"
"He's not here. He hasn't been here." I slipped on a dressing-gown and slippers, then stood a moment with Wilkson in the darkened hall. It was curious that the housekeeper should have made such an odd mistake--thinking that Dell had turned into my door. Perhaps at the distance she had observed she confused the door either to the right or left with mine.
There was no need for panic yet. Any one of a dozen things might have explained his temporary absence from his room in the dead of night. He might be in the room to my right--Fargo's room--in some conference with his friend. Yet there was no light under the door.
I knocked loudly. Fargo called sharply from his bed.
"Dell? No! Good Lord, he hasn't disappeared, too?"
"We can't find him." I heard Fargo spring from his bed, and I turned to the room to my left. Yet in an instant I remembered and halted on the threshold. This was Nealman's room, dark and chill with shadows. I scratched a match and lifted it high.
But no one was here. My voice rang with a hollow sound back to me. Our shouts had aroused Nopp, and in a moment he came out in the hall to join us. I think Nopp was a steadying influence on us both. He walked, rather than ran, he was perfectly composed, wholly himself, and his voice when he spoke was low and even. Yet there was no tone or note of an attempt to belittle our alarm. He acted as I have seen strong men act in the presence of some great disaster--calmly, soberly, rather white-faced and silent, but unflinching and steadfast.
There was no amazement in Nopp's face. Evidently he had expected just such a development.