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kind that Rand McNally puts out, with two pages devoted to each state, sometimes more for the really huge ones like Texas and California. It looked new.
    “Here, let me see that,” said Walter.
    “Was he planning a trip to America, then?” I asked Jane.
    “No. He was planning—we were planning—” Her voice cracked and she stopped, then took a deep breath and began again. “Wasn’t going to tell anyone. We’re planning to be married.”

FIVE
     
     
     
    “BUT—BUT I THOUGHT—”
    “Thought we’d quarreled. We did. Made it up. His idea to get married. Said Heatherwood House wasn’t his sort of place. Wanted to get out of it, wouldn’t live in my house unless we made it legal.”
    I tried to knit together the fraying threads of my composure. “Well, that’s—that’s wonderful.” It sounded flat. I tried again. “He’s a lovely man, Jane. I hope you’ll be very happy.” If we find him. I didn’t say it aloud, but of course I didn’t need to.
    “That’s why I know he hasn’t taken French leave. We were to be married today.”
    “Oh, Jane!” My voice broke. I looked at Jane, but her face was stony. Did she want sympathy? Probably not. She was holding on to her composure by a thin thread.
    “But why didn’t you tell anybody?” I asked, trying not to sniffle. “Alan and I would have wanted to be there, and lots of other people would, too.”
    “See a pair of old fools tie the knot? Pah! Better entertainment on the telly.”
    “Well, you’ve let the cat out of the bag now. Where were you being married? In the Cathedral?”
    “Registry office. Didn’t want a fuss.”
    “Oh. Then there were no arrangements to be canceled. Unless—did you plan to go away?”
    “A wedding trip? Not at our age.” Jane’s tone did not invite further questions, so I didn’t mention the atlas.
    “Well, you realize you’ve let yourself in for a big party when the day comes.”
    “If.”
    “No. When. We can’t lose hope, Jane. Look, he’s a sensible man. Something’s happened, that’s certain, but he isn’t a child.”
    “Crippled.” She was determined not to let herself be sweet-talked into optimism.
    “All right. He’s got a bum leg and he’s not young. But he’s smart. Unless somebody’s killed him, for some unimaginable reason, we’ll find him.”
    “Hmph.”
    The rain had slackened off, but we were too tired, and too dispirited, to walk home. I called Alan and he picked us up. As I got in the car, I queried him with a lift of the eyebrows. He shook his head.
    We offered Jane a drink once we got home, but she preferred to go home and brood alone, so Alan and I sat in front of the fire with our bourbon and our cats. We told each other what we’d done all day. It wasn’t much, either of us.
    “I’ve rung everyone I thought might help,” Alan said, setting down his glass with a sigh. “Not a glimmer. Derek’s searching in earnest now. Bulletins are out, and I believe there’s to be an appeal on the evening news.”
    “Alan, it just occurred to me—has anyone searched his old house? Where he used to live when he was a boy? If something happened to confuse him, a stroke or whatever, he might have gone there, mightn’t he?”
    “Derek did think of that. The house is long gone. It was near the university; the fine arts building is there now. And yes, they did ask people in the building, and no, Bill hasn’t turned up, muddled or otherwise. I’m afraid things aren’t looking hopeful. Poor Jane.”
    I’d told him her startling news. “Yes, I think she’s pretty shattered, though she’s trying to keep her cool. She really expected to find something at the museum, and to tell the truth, I did, too. All we came up with was this.” I nodded toward the atlas on the tea table. I’d brought it home simply to give myself the illusion of something to do.
    “Odd thing for Bill to have.” Alan frowned.
    “That’s what I thought. That’s why I was interested. But there’s nothing