“Well, you see, sir, sometimes one, and sometimes another; often it would be a little devil’s imp in breeches and charity-cap, as said his name was Ikey Bod; ketched him, I did, sliding down the French-polished bannisters more than once when I’d gone up with things to the drawing-room. Very often too it was that little lame man as come about the dog being lost. But there’s been nothing of that sort, sir, since my good lady, sir, Mrs Stiff, made a few words about Mr Redgrave having so much live-stock—tarriers, and ferrets and such—in the house.”
“That will do, Mr Stiff,” said Harry, quietly.
“But if I might make so bold as to say, sir—”
“That will do for the present Mr Stiff,” said Harry again; and the landlord wore quite an aggrieved aspect as he turned to leave the room.
“Do you think, then, that you have a clue?” exclaimed Sir Richard, eagerly, as soon as they were alone.
“I do not know—I hope so—I fear so,” said Harry, thoughtfully. “But stay a while—tell me first what steps you have taken.”
Sir Richard looked disappointed, but he went on speaking.
“I directly placed myself in communication with the police, but so far they have done nothing. But I am upon thorns—what do you know?”
“Nothing for certain, Sir Richard; but let me try alone—let me see what I can do,” said Harry, thoughtfully; for he was trying to arrange his plan of action, as he sought to pierce the cloud that seemed to be ahead. He knew but too well, from old associations, the character of the region which he now felt, from his own reasoning, Lionel had been in the habit of visiting, and with this thought came a sense of misery that crushed him.
He called up from the past a soft gentle face, and rage and jealousy seemed for a while to make him half mad, till they passed away to make room for a feeling of pity, as he muttered two words, “Flight—France!” and then wiped the cold dew of perspiration from his forehead.