When, at four o’clock, there was no news either of Harry or them, Hildegarde and her mother set out together—having told the Japanese servant to keep anybody who called, as they’d be gone only half an hour. If the Blumpittys, Mrs. Mar said, were not among the crowds in the principal street, they’d very probably be on that water front Hildegarde had written about. But no, not a Blumpitty to be seen. On their way home—the giant. “He might know—he’s a friend of theirs,” Hildegarde said. Without an instant’s hesitation Mrs. Mar accosted him. CHAPTER XV “My daughter thinks you know a man and his wife of the name of Blumpitty.” “Yes, ma’am,” said the giant, pulling off his broad hat. “Do you know where they are to be found?” “I just now left Blumpitty up in the Stevens House bar.” “In the bar! The man drinks?” “Oh, no, not to say _drinks_,” said the cheerful one, smiling broadly. “What’s he doing in the bar then?” “Just talkin’ to the boys.” “Then will you go right away and ask him—” “There’s Harry!” Hildegarde was making signals. “Well, _you’re_ not much good at finding people,” his mother greeted him. “But we’ve got Blumpitty.” “Oh, how d’you do,” said Harry, prepared to accept the giant in this rôle. Hildegarde explained, and the final move in the mission was committed to her brother. The ladies were to go home and trust Harry to “bring Blumpitty along.” They were reassured when they saw the giant disposed to accompany the expedition. Within an hour, there was Blumpitty haled before Mrs. Mar, like a criminal before his judge. “Well!” Mrs. Mar glanced from her son to the clock. “And you wouldn’t have found him even at this hour but for Hildegarde and me.” Harry’s answer to this (and to Hildegarde’s, “Remember, we must speak low, Mr. Dorn’s room is just above”) was to whisper, as if divulging some tremendous secret, “Mr. Blumpitty.” Then, still more significantly, “_My mother._” My mother fastened her bright eyes upon the stranger who had obliged her by responding to her call. Plainly she was not prepossessed. The giant had either been wrong, and Blumpitty _did_ drink (in which case Mrs. Mar was wasting her time), or else the man naturally looked “logy”—a fatal way of looking. “Please sit down, Mr. Blumpitty,” said Hildegarde, speaking very low. Mr. Blumpitty, more than ever with the air of a mute at a funeral, deposited himself on the extreme edge of a chair. “You see,” said Harry, by way of breaking the chill of his mother’s reception, “you see, Mr. Blumpitty wasn’t on any hotel register.” “Why weren’t you?” demanded Mrs. Mar, as though this were a damning charge. “No room anywhere,” said Blumpitty sadly. “Oh, I hope you found a place to sleep in—” began Hildegarde. “Wa-al, yes, after huntin’ around two whole days.” “Two days!” says Mrs. Mar, ready to nail him for a liar at the start, and so save time. “There’s a night in the middle of two days.” “Ya-as. We wished they wusn’t.” “Where did you sleep?”