'Lotty, Lotty!' he called, and even Wallace raised his voice, barking a strange, querulous kind of bark, and that was Antony's only answer.
'She is off to light the lamps in the "Gipsy Queen,"' he said to himself. So he lit a cigar, and went smoking towards the caravan. But it was all in darkness.
He met Mary.
'Have you seen Lotty?' he said.
'A few moments ago. Yes, Mr Blake. She was going towards the big marquee.'
Ee-yowf barked Wallace again. It was the strangest sort of bark ever the young man had heard him utter—speakingly strange, in fact. Then he started off in the direction of the swinging, swaying petroleum lights of the camp.
He found the honest dog in the marquee looking for his mistress, and it was evident enough he was on trail. He went dashing out now with his head low towards the turf; and, as far as Antony could see him, he appeared to be making tracks for the river. And Antony followed as quickly as he could, a strange, wild thought having suddenly taken possession of his very soul. He felt it was foolish, but he could not help it.
He found Wallace standing by the little boathouse looking helplessly out towards the sea. Antony quickly opened the back-folding doors and threw the gleam of his flashlight inside. It was empty! The Jenny Wren was gone!
He had not a single doubt now in his mind as to what must have happened.