Silence is said to give consent. That must have been the interpretation placed upon Gertrude’s silence, for her heart was too full to speak, and their visitor stayed and dined.
“No,” he said, in the course of the conversation, as to his proceedings, for imperceptibly he had won so upon all present that they seemed now to accept his words as those of the truth: “I have worked very hard and traced our friend to all his haunts, where he is well-known, but I cannot find that he has been there since the night he left here. I have been over to Paris, and on to Switzerland.”
“With ten pounds?” said the old lawyer sharply.
“No. I wrote to Doctor Lawrence when that sum was expended. Did he not tell you?”
“No; I’ve been so busy and anxious over Saul Harrington’s case that I forgot to name it, Hampton.”
The lawyer grunted.
“I have traced Mr Saul Harrington’s course over on the Continent as easily as could be, but I did not hear a word about his accident.”
“That’s strange,” said Mrs Hampton.
“Neither could I find that mine enemy had been with him. He was alone all through; and, after spending a lot of money, time, and thought, I am forced to come back and say to you that I must seem in your eyes a greater impostor than ever.”
“You must try again,” said the doctor cheerfully. “The position remains the same.”