I was glad to find that in giving details of what had happened he said nothing about the advisability of keeping a watch on Ralph Carriston’s proceedings. He did, indeed, offer an absurdly large reward for the discovery of the missing girl; and, moreover, gave the officer in charge of the case a packet of photographs of his phantom man, telling him in the gravest manner that he knew the original of that likeness had something to do with the disappearance of Miss Rowan. The officer, who thought the portrait was that of a natural being, took his instructions in good faith, although he seemed greatly surprised when he heard that Carriston knew neither the name nor the occupation, in fact, knew nothing concerning the man who was to be sought for. However, as Carriston assured him that finding this man would insure the reward as much as if he found Madeline, the officer readily promised to combine the two tasks, little knowing what waste of time any attempt to perform the latter must be.
Two days after this Carriston came to me. “I shall leave you to-morrow,” he said.
“Where are you going?” I asked. “Why do you leave?”
“I am going to travel about. I have no intention of letting Ralph get hold of me. So I mean to go from place to place until I find Madeline.”
“Be careful,” I urged.
“I shall be careful enough. I’ll take care that no doctors, surgeons, or even apothecaries get on my track. I shall go just as the fit seizes me. If I can’t say one day where I shall be the next, it will be impossible for that villain to know.”
This was not a bad argument. In fact, if he carried out his resolve of passing quickly from place to place I did not see how he could plan anything more likely to defeat the intentions with which we credited his cousin. As to his finding Madeline by so doing, that was another matter.
His idea seemed to be that chance would sooner or later bring him in contact with the man of his dream. However, now that the search had been intrusted to the proper persons his own action in the matter was not worth troubling about. I gave him many cautions. He was to be quiet and guarded in words and manner. He was not to converse with strangers. If he found himself dogged or watched by any one he was to communicate at once with me. But, above all, I begged him not to yield again to his mental infirmity. The folly of a man who could avoid it, throwing himself into such a state ought to be apparent to him.
“Not oftener than I can help,” was all the promise I could get from him. “But see her I must sometimes, or I shall die.”
I had now given up as hopeless the combat with his peculiar idiosyncrasy. So, with many expressions of gratitude on his part, we bade each other farewell.