And then he might have called at the International to see if any letters had been left for him. But neither, upon reflection, did Dick regret this neglect. He considered it was not probable any letters were awaiting there; or, if there were, that they should be of much importance; or, even if so, whether he were not doing the very thing that should be done under such supposatory circumstances, namely, hurrying back to London by the express train. So, upon the whole, Dick was glad he forgot to lose time and miss the express by calling at the International to inquire for letters.
The train flew on with its usual lightning rate of speed and at five o’clock reached its station in London.
He got out upon the platform, carpet-bag in hand, and began to look for a cab, when he heard a little voice calling:
“Dit! Dit! oh, Dit! tome here, Dit!”
In great surprise he looked about him, confidently expecting to see little Lenny and Pina, and perhaps Anna and Drusilla, come to the station on the chance of meeting him.
But he saw no one that he knew. And though he plunged into the crowd seeking the owner of the little voice in the direction from which he had heard it, he saw nothing of either little Lenny or his nurse.
At length, thinking that he had been mistaken, he gave up the quest, and took a cab for Trafalgar Square.
Afterwards he recollected, as a dream or a vision, the momentary flitting through the crowd of a ragged woman with a child in her arms.
But at the instant of seeing these, he had not dreamed of connecting them in any way with the voice he had heard. With something of that vague anxiety we all feel in returning home, even after a short absence, Richard Hammond hurried to Trafalgar Square.
As soon as he reached the Morley House, he sprang from the cab, tossed a crown piece to the cabman, and without waiting for the change, ran into the house and up to his apartments.