The Colonel looked at his plate silently. He was sending his thoughts back over the last year, trying to collect data that might throw some light on what he had just heard.
“You’re certain it was Allen, not a chance likeness?” he said slowly.
“I’ll take my oath of it. Why, I’ve seen the man for the past four years dangling around here. I know his face as well as I know yours, and I had a good look at it before he saw me and jumped back. He’s got in too deep and skipped. Everybody has been wondering how he kept on his feet so long.”
“He’s in pretty deep, sure enough,” said the Colonel absently. “You said Melbourne was the port? When do they sail?”
“Midday to-day. They’re off by now. They’ll be outside the heads already with this breeze.”
The Colonel asked a few more questions and then rose and excused himself. His business was pressing.
His first action was to send a telegram to Rion Gracey, asking him if Allen had left Virginia and where June was. The answer was to be sent to the club. Then he went forth. His intention was to inquire at the hotels patronized by Allen on his frequent visits to the city. As he went from place to place the conviction that the man seen by his friend had been June’s father, and that he had fled, strengthened with every moment.
A feverish anxiety about June took possession of him. If her father had decamped leaving her alone, she would have to face his angry creditors. He thought of her as he had last seen her, exposed to such an experience, and his heart swelled with pity and rage. Possibly she knew, had guessed what was coming and had begged him to stay with her to protect and care for her in a position for which she was so little fitted. And he had left her—left her to face it alone!
He returned to the club, having heard no word of Allen, and found Rion’s answer to his telegram. It ran:
“Allen left for coast Wednesday morning. June here. What’s amiss?”