The porter looked in the 'Y' pigeon-hole and shook his head.
"Nothing for that name either, my lord."
Yorke stood at the door of the porter's glass box and stared at the man as if he could not believe his ears. Then he swung round, and jumping into a cab, told the man to drive to Arnheim's.
He met the dealer coming down the stairs.
"Oh, good morning, my lord," he said. "I have written to you."
"Yes, yes! Mr. Lisle—has he been here?"
"Yes, my lord," said Arnheim, looking at the handsome and palpably agitated face curiously. "He has been here."
"With——."
"With his daughter, Miss Lisle. Yes. And he has left some pictures. Of course, your lordship knows best, but I am bound to tell you, it's only right, that the pictures are utterly——."
"I know, I know," Yorke broke in quickly. "That's all right. I mean it doesn't matter. I'll explain afterward. What I want now is their address!"