CHAPTER XXXV.
ON A VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY.
After pitching and tossing all night in a manner painfully suggestive of shipwreck, John Treverton and his faithful solicitor arrived at St. Malo early in the afternoon, where the comforts and luxuries of that most comfortable hotel, the ‘Franklin,’ were peculiarly grateful after their cold and dreary passage.
There was no train to carry them to Auray that afternoon, so they dined snugly by a glorious wood fire in a private sitting-room, and discussed the difficulties and dangers of John Treverton’s position over a bottle of Chambertin with the true violet bouquet.
Throughout this long conversation, Tom Sampson showed himself as shrewd as he was devoted. He seized the salient points of the case; fully measured all its difficulties; saw that sooner or later John Treverton might be arrested on suspicion of his wife’s murder, and would have to prove himself innocent. Sampson, as well as Treverton, had seen how much malice there was in Edward Clare’s mind, and both foresaw the probability of that malice being pushed still further.
‘If we could only prove that your first marriage was invalid, we should get rid at once of any motive on your part for the murder,’ said Sampson.
‘You could not prove that I knew my first marriage to be invalid,’ answered Treverton, ‘unless you are going to try to prove a lie.’
‘I don’t know what I might not try to do, if your neck were in danger,’ retorted Sampson. ‘I shouldn’t stick at trifles, you may depend upon it. The grand thing will be to find out if there was a previous marriage. After your story about the sailor at the Morgue, I am inclined to hope for success.’
‘Are you? Poor Sampson! I strongly suspect we are going in search of a mare’s nest.’
They left St. Malo next morning, and arrived at Auray early in the afternoon. They were jolted down a long boulevard from the station to the town in an omnibus, which finally deposited them at the Pavillon d’en haut, a very comfortable hotel, where they were received by a smiling landlady, and a pretty chambermaid in a neat black gown, trimmed with velvet, a cambric cap as quaint as a nun’s headgear, and apron, collar, and cuffs of the same spotless fabric.