“I do, indeed,” cried the Doves’ coachman. “The fact is, I’m mighty anxious about them.”
“Hold on,” cried Blucher Gray, “here comes the harbour master and one or two others; they have heard something’s up, I’ll lay a wager.”
“Beg your pardon, sir, but didn’t you ask my ladies to come over and meet the balloon gentlemen on their way back from Cherbourg, sir?” said the coachman, addressing the harbour master.
“No, indeed, coachman,” replied he, quite astounded. “But why do you ask?”
“Well, sir, because Miss Dove and her friend went on board the steam yacht Panther, thinking, I believe, to meet you and their friends.”
“Then I’m afraid there’s been foul play. However, I will immediately wire across and send out a tug, though I fear it is too late to stop them. By the way, Trimmons, who was that queer-looking man you have been driving over from Seaford lately? He’s stone blind, they say.”
“My wife’s lodger, sir,” answered Gray.
“But where has he gone now?”
“That’s exactly the very point we’re discussing,” said Trimmons.
“I can see it all,” cried the harbour master; “we’re all completely done. The fellow was that rascal Falcon in disguise, and he has carried off Miss Dove and her friend, God knows where. Well, it’s no use your stopping here, coachman, you had better make the best of your way home to Wedwell Park. I wish I could go with you to break the matter to the squire. However, I’ll send my confidential clerk.”