"It looks," replied Carton, "as if my guardian was running away."
"To my mind there's not a doubt of it. Have you any idea what that little box he would not let out of his charge contains?"
"The two thousand sovereigns he obtained from the bank," said Carton, in a tone of inquiry.
"Exactly. I tell you now plainly that I am positive Mr. Kenneth Dowsett is implicated in the murder of your poor girl."
Carton set his teeth in great agitation. "If he is! if he is!" he said; but he could say no more.
Bill Foster was back.
"There's a train to Folkestone," he cried, "the South-Eastern line, at 11.47. You can catch it easily. If there's no boat handy from Folkestone to Boulogne, you'll be able to hire one there. The steamers take two hours going across. You can get there in four. Train arrives at Folkestone at 1.27. By six o'clock you can be in Boulogne. Jump into my trap, gentlemen."
We jumped in, and were driven to the station. His information was correct. I gave him thirty shillings, and he departed in high glee. Then we took tickets for Folkestone, and arrived there at a quarter to two.
There was no steamer going, but with little difficulty we arranged to get across. The passage took longer than four hours--it took six. At nine o'clock at night we were in Boulogne.
I cannot speak an intelligible sentence in French. Carton was too agitated to take the direction of affairs.