Missing From Home Read Online Free PDF

treadmill of words and suddenly, to her horror, she knew she was very near tears. “He met my daughter on the boat yesterday. And she—she’s disappeared and we’re trying to trace her. There’s just a hope that he might know something—remember something that would help us—” She stopped, unable to go on.
    “Oh, I say, I’m sorry.” Suddenly the rather pert, uncaring little girl was looking at her with real compassion from under her strange erection of fair hair. “Wait a minute. I’ll see if we can help you.”
    She turned to her switchboard and energetically began to pull out plugs and push others in. Then she said into the mouthpiece which hung round her neck.
    “Personnel Department? Is Sadie there?—Look, Sadie, can you tell me who’s back from leave today? No, not just a day’s leave. A real holiday. No, none of the girls. One of the men.—What? Well, I just want to know. It’s important.—Who? No, I don’t know him. Is he a tall chap?—No, don’t be silly. There’s a lady here wants him. In Mr. Cartin’s department, you say? Well, that’ll be two-one-three. Thanks a lot.
    “I think I’ve got him.” She spoke encouragingly over her shoulder to Clare. “Why don’t you sit down ? You look all in.”
    Clare sank on to a nearby chair and watched some more sleight of hand with the plugs.
    “Two-one-three?” she heard the brisk voice enquiring. “Is Mr. Penrose there, please?” And then, “Mr. Penrose, there’s a lady in the outer office wants to speak to you.—Just a minute.” The girl looked over her shoulder again at Clare. “What’s the name?”
    “Mrs. Collamore. But he won’t know it. Say I gave him a lift to Baker Street station last night.” She heard this piece of information being relayed. And then the girl said, “It’s all right. He’s coming.” Two minutes later Clare’s friend of the previous evening entered from an inner office, looking puzzled, but smiling slightly as he came forward to greet her. “Hello, Mrs.—Collamore. What can I do for you?” She was not surprised that there was a slight air of reservation in his manner. He must be wondering why on earth a virtual stranger should have followed him up so determinedly.
    “I’m so terribly sorry to come bothering you at work.” Her tone was breathless and apologetic. “But I didn’t know where else to find you, and I thought you might be able to help me—us. It’s about Pat. She’s missing and—”
    “Missing?” Blessedly he seemed to take in the full gravity of that immediately, for he said quickly, “Come with me.” And ushered her through a door, along a short passage and into a small office-studio, where there was a desk, a drawing-board on an easel, a couple of hard chairs and very little else.
    “Sit down,” he said. “Take your time. And tell me what has happened.”
    In spite of his youth, there was something infinitely reassuring about his air of friendly authority. And, for the first time that morning, Clare felt the tight band round her heart relax and her breath come more easily. At first jerkily, and then more calmly, she explained to him what had happened.
    “So, you see, she was not on the train. I never quite thought she was. But she was certainly on the boat if your information is correct. You say she told you her name was Pat?”
    “Quite by chance—yes. Someone happened to call the name to another girl and she glanced up while we were talking and then, as she turned back to me, she said, ‘I thought for a moment someone was calling me. That’s my name.’ As I told you, the Pat I talked to was fair and good-looking and wore a red beret and a sort of white travelling coat. — And there’s another thing I remember now,” he added suddenly, “she wore a rather unusual bracelet. Like a charm bracelet, only instead of charms there were different semi-precious stones.”
    “Then there’s no doubt about it!” Clare exclaimed. “I gave her that bracelet myself. It