So the days passed. He had gladdened his eyes three times with a view of old General Bartholomew. He had seen that ancient man leaning on his stick, taking a constitutional around the square.
And that was all! He passed the house and watched, yet saw no sign of her. He came at night-time, when tell-tale shadows might be thrown on the blinds, but saw nothing, only the shadow of the General or of his secretary, never one that might have been hers.
And then he slowly came to the conclusion that Joan Meredyth could no longer be there. It had taken him nearly a week to come to that decision.
That Joan had left General Bartholomew’s house he was certain, but where was she? He had no right to enquire, no right to hunt her down. If he knew where she was, how could it profit him, for had he not promised to trouble her no more?
Yet still for all that he wanted to know, and casting about in his mind how he might find her, he thought of Mr. Philip Slotman.
It was possible that if she had left the General’s she had gone back to take up her work with Slotman again.
“I’ll risk it,” he thought, and went to Gracebury and made his way to Slotman’s office.
It was a sadly depleted staff that he found in the general office. An ancient man and a young boy represented Mr. Philip Slotman’s one-time large clerical staff.
“Mr. Slotman’s away, sir, down in the country—gone down to Sussex, sir,” said the lad.
“To Sussex? Will he be away long?”