I've got to get her back before they come home."
"Yes," he said.
"They're coming home the first of the month."
Spade's eyes brightened.
"Then we've two weeks," he said.
"I didn't know what she had done until her letter came.
I was frantic."
Her lips trembled.
Her hands mashed the dark handbag in her lap.
"I was too afraid she had done something like this to go to the police, and the fear that something had happened to her kept urging me to go.
There wasn't anyone I could go to for advice.
I didn't know what to do.
What could I do?"
"Nothing, of course," Spade said, "but then her letter came?"
"Yes, and I sent her a telegram asking her to come home.
I sent it to General Delivery here.
That was the only address she gave me.
I waited a whole week, but no answer came, not another word from her.
And Mama and Papa's return was drawing nearer and nearer.
So I came to San Francisco to get her.
I wrote her I was coming.
I shouldn't have done that, should I?"
"Maybe not.
It's not always easy to know what to do.
You haven't found her?"
"No, I haven't.
I wrote her that I would go to the St. Mark, and I begged her to come and let me talk to her even if she didn't intend to go home with me.
But she didn't come.
I waited three days, and she didn't come, didn't even send me a message of any sort."
Spade nodded his blond satan's head, frowned sympathetically, and tightened his lips together.
"It was horrible," Miss Wonderly said, trying to smile.
"I couldn't sit there like that—waiting—not knowing what had happened to her, what might be happening to her."
She stopped trying to smile.
She shuddered.
"The only address I had was General Delivery.
I wrote her another letter, and yesterday afternoon I went to the Post Office.
I stayed there until after dark, but I didn't see her.
I went there again this morning, and still didn't see Corinne, but I saw Floyd Thursby."
Spade nodded again. His frown went away. In its place came a look of sharp attentiveness.
"He wouldn't tell me where Corinne was," she went on, hopelessly.
"He wouldn't tell me anything, except that she was well and happy.
But how can I believe that? That is what he would tell me anyhow, isn't it?"
"Sure," Spade agreed.
"But it might be true."
"I hope it is.
I do hope it is," she exclaimed.
"But I can't go back home like this, without having seen her, without even having talked to her on the phone.
He wouldn't take me to her.
He said she didn't want to see me.
I can't believe that.