“Listen, Francis,” I said. “There are two places where Mr. Marx is likely to be this week. One is in London, the other here. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” he answered; “I understand.”
“Now, Mr. Ravenor and I know best where to find him in London, but we can’t leave unless we know that there is someone on the look-out here as well. If we go to London, will you remain here and watch for him?”
The man’s eyes sparkled.
“Yes,” he answered quickly. “This is the room where he writes, isn’t it? He will come here. Yes, I will wait; I will watch here in this room.”
My father rang a bell and ordered a carriage to take us to the station. Then he gave special orders about Francis. He was to be allowed to remain in the library, to use Mr. Ravenor’s own sleeping apartment, and to have meals brought to him regularly.
An hour later we left the castle for Torchester. As we drove across the courtyard we could see a pale, gaunt figure standing at the library window, silent and rigid. It was Francis, waiting.
CHAPTER LIII.
MESSRS. HIGGENSON AND CO.
At ten o’clock we reached St. Pancras, travelling by fast train from Torchester, and half an hour later a hansom put us down at the Hotel Metropole. Immediately in front of the entrance Count de Cartienne’s small brougham was waiting, and as we descended from the cab his servant stepped forward and handed me a note. I tore it open and read it under the gas-lamp.
“Come to me at once and you will find Mr. M——. Bring the box with you.—C——.”