Trafford wiped the sweat from his forehead.
“Thank you,” he said, as steadily as he could. “I have given you a great deal of trouble. One more question. Could I catch that vessel that sails from Liverpool to-morrow?”
The clerk glanced at the office clock.
“Well—you could,” he said, succinctly.
Trafford thanked him again and went out to the cab. He reeled slightly as the cool air met his face, and he passed his hand over his eyes. There was no doubt now. Since seeing Lady Wyndover he had permitted himself now and again to hope; but there was no doubt now. Norman and Esmeralda had gone back to Three Star, where they had met and learned to love each other.
He stood looking at the cab, his brain whirling. Common sense said: “Let them go; apply for a divorce; forget her.” But he was not in the mood to listen to common sense. He wanted—thirsted—to find them, to confront Norman, to exact the vengeance due to him. The blood was coursing through his veins like fire. “Follow them—follow them!” something seemed to whisper, to shout, in his ear.
He got into the cab and told the man to drive to Euston—and fast. The man looked at him curiously.
“Anywhere after that, sir?” he asked. “’Cause I’d get another horse or borrow a steam fire-engine.”
Trafford found that a train started for Liverpool in little more than half an hour, and having dismissed the cab, and filled the cabman with delight by the liberality of his fare, he paced up and down the platform, consumed with a burning impatience. He thought of Lilias once or twice, but the telegraph offices were closed, and the thought was only transient; his whole being was absorbed in the pursuit which had begun. At the last moment he got a whisky and soda and tried to eat a biscuit, but the well-known and detested station comestible seemed more sawdust than usual, and he dropped it in disgust.
When he reached Liverpool he drove straight to the docks, and found, with a kind of sardonic joy, that he could get a berth on board the “Trident,” and that she sailed early in the forenoon. He booked the berth in one of his numerous and seldom-used names, sent a telegram to Lilias and Lady Wyndover saying that he would write, and having purchased an outfit, went on board.