During that sleepless night, however, Patricia laid some plans of her own, which she purposed to put into execution the next day. She felt weary and lifeless after the excitement and worry of the previous night and the hours of restless tossing that followed. Her father, likewise, seemed fatigued and depressed, though he strove hard, for her sake, as she privately surmised, to appear cheerful and hopeful.
"We'll hurry through breakfast," he told her, as they left the room, "and then I'll start out on the hunt. I've been thinking over a few of the possibilities during the night, and some ideas have occurred to me that I didn't think of at first. I want you to stay rather close to the room to-day—that is, don't go out for any length of time till I get back. I may not return before late afternoon, but don't let that worry you. And don't lose heart, honey! It will probably turn out all right. By the way, when we get down to the dining-room, please try to act as nearly normal as possible, and as if nothing were wrong. It might be fatal to let the world at large notice that all is not as usual. And, of course, don't touch this subject, as far as conversation goes, with a forty-foot pole!"
His latter injunctions Patricia found rather difficult to carry out. It was far from easy to appear her usual care-free self when weighed down with such a hideous burden of trouble. If she hadn't felt the thing to be all her own fault, unwitting though it was, she could have borne it better.
Most difficult of all was having to face Peter Stoger, who, in his usual leaden way, waited upon them. His dull stupidity, she always felt, covered a watchfulness, that being hidden, was more trying than if it had been open and aboveboard. This morning she felt certain he was watching them both, with a covert keenness, when he thought himself unobserved. The captain treated Peter in precisely the same fashion as usual. Once only did she observe anything unusual in his manner. This was when the waiter, in passing behind him, brushed his shoulder with the edge of his tray. It was a trivial matter, and, so Patricia thought, would, as a rule, have called forth no comment from her father. But, rather to her surprise, the captain turned on him with an impatient gesture and the quite sharp remark, "Be careful, Peter!" The man apologized almost servilely and backed away.
"That shows how worried and tired and upset Father is!" thought Patricia. "He doesn't usually act that way over such a little thing. He probably has his suspicions of that horrid man, too. I'm afraid he's wishing he'd taken my advice about him at first."
Many times during the meal did she glance over toward the table usually occupied by Virginie and Madame Vanderpoel, hoping, yet almost dreading, to see them. But the table remained empty, nor did they appear at all in the dining-room during that meal.
"Stay in the room as much as possible to-day," the captain again warned her before he went away. "I don't want to think of these premises being left free for any more queer things to happen."
"I will, but may I see Virginie?"
"I don't see any reason why you shouldn't, especially if it comes about naturally. It won't do to seem to avoid these people, either. But don't force any meeting, and above all things, I hardly need warn you to say nothing about what has happened. That would spoil everything."
For some time after her father left, Patricia sat maturing her plans. See Virginie this day she must, and she thought it could be effected in the most natural manner possible. She would ask her to bring her water-colors and sketches in again, and they would try to do some work, she (Patricia) attempting to make some copies of the sketches under Virginie's direction. In some such natural way the conversation might be led around to her father's sketches, and she might have a chance to determine whether the girl were at all involved in this dreadful affair. Nothing about it need be mentioned directly. Patricia felt sure she could determine, from Virginie's manner, how much she knew.