Miss Montressor was profoundly discouraged. Her embassy was not prospering; the worst that they feared was true, and the aid on which they had speculated did not seem to be forthcoming. Mrs. Griswold had no relatives and no intimates. Mr. Griswold had no relatives, and if he had any intimates, Mrs. Jenkins could evidently have no information concerning them. What was to be done now? Miss Montressor dared not pursue her questioning of her sister any further, and hastily decided that the best thing she could do would be to return to the hotel and narrate to Bryan Duval exactly what had passed. She felt that her mission was but imperfectly executed; but its solemnity and importance had grown upon her with every moment since she had entered Mrs. Griswold's house, and she was now strongly actuated by a nervous desire to get out of it as soon as possible. She looked at her watch and started up in a hurry.
'I must be going, Bess,' she said; 'I had no notion it was so late. I am overdue at rehearsal, and here I have stayed talking about other people, and not said anything of all I wanted to say to you. Come along down-stairs with me.'
'You will come again, Clara?' said Mrs. Jenkins. 'Nobody will ever suspect you in that gown and with that great shawl--it spoils your figure, dear, but never mind.'
'I will try,' said Miss Montressor, 'I will see about it; if not, you can come to me. Good-bye now.'
Mrs. Jenkins had come to the door with her; the hall was empty as the sisters spoke their last few words there. Mrs. Jenkins's hand was upon the lock of the street door when the bell was rung. She mechanically drew back the lock, and a gentleman presented himself. He was a young man, tall, slight, and upright, with bright black eyes and dark complexion, fine curly black hair, and a dark moustache.
'Is Mrs. Griswold at home?' he said.
'She is at home, sir,' said Mrs. Jenkins, 'but she is very tired and not very well, and she is lying down.'
'O, then,' said the stranger, passing into the hall, 'I will content myself with a visit to your quarters, Mrs. Jenkins, and a look at the baby.' He had lifted his hat to Miss Montressor, who by this time was on the outside of the door. 'And,' he now added, 'I will just write a line in the waiting-room before you take me up-stairs, Mrs. Jenkins, and ask you to give it to Mrs. Griswold when she awakes.' The sisters parted with a wave of the hand, and Mrs. Jenkins shut the door.
Miss Montressor walked slowly and thoughtfully down the street. She felt sure that the gentleman whom she had just seen, and who spoke so familiarly to her sister, must be at least an intimate acquaintance of Mrs. Griswold's--the early hour of his visit, his familiar manner, the fact that he was going to be taken up to see the child, the very tone of her sister's voice as she answered his question, all indicated that he was no stranger. Bess had said Mrs. Griswold had no intimate friends. Perhaps she had forgotten this one, or the intimacy might be between him and Mr. Griswold. From that, may be, Miss Montressor felt instinctively that here was a resource--an instrument put into her hands. There could be no risk in the using of it.
By the time she had arrived at this conclusion she was well out of sight from the windows of Mrs. Griswold's house; but no one could leave that house and turn to either side without her perceiving the fact. She crossed the street and waited on the opposite side. She was quite alone, as it happened, throughout its long length, and might pass slowly back and forward a few steps in each direction without attracting attention.