"Someone's been here," she said. "The diamond aigrette, the jewel box--all my things are gone. Even the dress I wore last night--it was on the bed. They've all been taken." He came in and took her arm, drawing her away. "Everything of value's gone," he said quietly. "I went all through the house before you came and saw it: the silver downstairs; even a lot of the pictures are cut out of their frames. Looters have been here, and they've made a clean sweep. I hoped you wouldn't see it. Come, let's go." She lingered, moving the ornaments about on the bureau, still hunting for the letter, and muttering low to herself, "It doesn't matter. Those things don't matter"--then in a voice suddenly tremulous--"they've left no letter. They've left nothing to tell me if Chrystie's back and where they've gone to." His hand on her arm drew her toward the door. "Lorry, dear, there's no good doing this. They were probably put out, had to go in a hurry, hadn't time to do any thinking. When I came in here there was a soldier patrolling along the street. He may have been there when they left; and if he was he may know something about them." She caught at the hope, was all tingling life again, making for the stairs. "Of course. I saw him, too, and I dodged behind him. If he was here then he'd know. They might even have left a message with him. Oh, there he is!" The arch of the hall door framed the soldier's figure, standing on the top of the street steps, a gold-touched statue lifted above the surging procession of heads. With a swooping rush she was at his side. "Where are the people who were in this house?" she gasped. The man started and wheeled on her, saw Burrage behind her, and looked from one to the other, surprised. "How'd you get in there?" he demanded. "That house was cleared out this afternoon." "Never mind that," said Mark. "We're leaving it now. This lady's looking for her family that she left here earlier in the day." "Well, I got 'em off--at least I got the only one here, an old lady. She was sittin' there on the grass where you see the chairs. We had orders to put out everyone along this block, and seem' she was old and upset I commandeered an express wagon that was passin' and made the driver take her along." "Only _one_ lady?" Lorry's voice was husky. "Yes, miss, only one. I asked her if there was anybody in the house, and she said no, she was alone. There was a Chinaman with her that helped me pack her in comfortable--a smart, handy old chap. I don't know where he went; I didn't see him again." A heart-piercing sound of suffering burst from the girl, and her face sank into her hands. The soldier eyed her sympathetically. "I'm sorry, lady, I can't tell you where she's gone. But, believe me, it was no picnic gettin' the people started--some of 'em wantin' to stay, and others of 'em wantin' to take all the furniture along. We didn't have time to ask questions. But you'll happen on her all right. She's safe uptown with friends."