“When he was not out searching the ocean floor, he stayed at a small pension not far from here. You could inquire there.”
“Where is the place?”
“It is called by the name of Pension Sans Souci. You will have no trouble in finding it. It is on this very street. When you go out, turn to your right. A walk of two blocks will bring you there.”
“Merci. Thank you very much,” Derek said.
His hopes were high as he walked down the street under a blazing tropical sun. But these high hopes were short lived. At the Sans Souci, the boardinghouse whose English name would be “Without Care,” Derek learned little more.
“I am so sorry, young man, that I cannot give you news of your father,” the manager of the small boardinghouse told Derek. “We were very fond of him.”
“He left no word as to where he was going?”
“No. We didn’t even know he had left us. One morning, quite early, he came to our modest establishment. I thought he seemed quite distraught. He was not his usual cheerful self. He had hardly a word with me. And it was his custom to chat with others here. He went to his room. To rest, I supposed. I went to awaken him for the noon meal. His room was empty.”
“And that is all you can tell me?”
“As much as I regret it, that is all I know. There have been rumors—”