"There are two ferries, aren't there?" she asked. "Aren't they near enough together on this side to make it possible to watch both for their return? for, of course, they haven't gone to East Boston for any other purpose than to come back here again unperceived."
"That might possibly be done, miss," said Mike, after a look at the jam of vehicles behind him, "but we're in for a trip across anyways, for I couldn't turn 'round now. An' then, d'ye see, there's more ways to get back from East Boston. They might go over to Chelsea, an' come back by that ferry, or take a run around by road and bridge, so you'd best give 'em up as lost, miss, an' it's sorry I am to tell you so."
"Well," said Clara sighing, "if we have to cross, we can make inquiries on the other side, and possibly come up with them again. We'll try it."
Inquiries on the East Boston side were vain when they landed there ten minutes later.
No one to whom they spoke could remember whether a carriage such as they described had been across or not.
One man, anxious to parade information that he did not possess, thought vaguely that the carriage might have gone thus and so, and Clara instructed Mike to drive that way a short distance, and then to return to Boston by the other ferry.
This was done, and all trace of Poubalov having been lost, and but one more hope remaining to her—Paul's investigation of the house in Roxbury—she directed Mike to drive to Ashburton Place.
Paul had arrived at Mrs. White's a few minutes ahead of her.
"I waited for you," he said in a disheartened voice, "because I'm completely at a loss what to do next, not because I have anything of importance to say."
"Everything is of importance, Paul," replied Clara, finding herself now called upon to inspire her allies with courage as well as give them ideas. "You went to that quaint-looking house, of course?"