random she questioned persons on the streets, but no one had heard of Mary Mason.
“I guess it’s hopeless,” Nancy thought in disappointment. “This is worse than hunting for a needle in a haystack.”
Nancy was convinced that the trip to Dockville had been a wasted one, but because it was not her nature to give up easily, she was unwilling to return home without at least one more effort. Without considering where she was going, she turned into a winding narrow street which led along the river front.
She drove slowly, studying the houses critically, though she had little hope of finding the one for which she was searching. For all she knew, she might have passed it unwittingly.
The dwellings on this street were even more squalid and dingy than the tenements, and were set back a considerable distance from the road. Apparently, many of the buildings had been deserted, for windows were broken out, roofs sagged, and the