“But what do you advise my doing, Père? I’d like you to lend me your counsel—give me minute directions about everything.”
“In the first place, then, you must show yourself on the other side of the water, and take an active part in the search. Such a near relative, as you are, ’twould appear strange if you didn’t. All the world may not be aware of the little tiff—rather prolonged though—that’s been between you. And if it were, your keeping away on such an occasion would give cause for greater scandal. Spite so rancorous! that of itself should excite curious thoughts—suspicions. Naturally enough. A man, whose own cousin is mysteriously missing, not caring to know what has become of her! And when knowing—when ‘Found drowned,’ as she will be—not to show either sympathy or sorrow! Ma foi! they might mob you if you didn’t!”
“That’s true enough,” grunts Murdock, thinking of the respect in which his cousin is held, and her great popularity throughout the neighbourhood.
“You advise my going over to Llangorren?”
“Decidedly, I do. Present yourself there to-morrow, without fail. You may make the hour reasonably late; saying that the sinister intelligence has only just reached you at Glyngog—out of the way as it is. You’ll find plenty of people at the Court on your arrival. From what I’ve learnt this afternoon, through my informant resident there, they’ll be hot upon the search to-morrow. It would have been more earnest to-day, but for that quaint old creature with her romantic notions; the latest of them, as Clarisse tell me, that Mademoiselle had run away with the Hussar! But it appears a letter has reached the Court in his handwriting, which put a different construction on the affair; proving to them it could be no elopement—at least with him. Under these circumstances, then, to-morrow morning, soon as the sun is up, there’ll be a hue and cry all over the country; so loud you couldn’t fail to hear, and will be expected to have a voice in it. To do that effectually you must show yourself at Llangorren, and in good time.”
“There’s sense in what you say. You’re a very Solomon, Father Rogier. I’ll be there, trust me. Is there anything else you think of.”
The Jesuit is for a time silent, apparently in deep thought. It is a ticklish game the two are playing, and needs careful consideration, with cautious action.
“Yes,” he at length answers. “There are a good many other things, I think of. But they depend upon circumstances not yet developed by which you will have to be guided. And you must guide yourself, M’sieu, as you best can. It will be quite four days, if not more, ere I can get back. They may even find the body to-morrow—if they should think of employing drags, or other searching apparatus. Still, I fancy, ’twill be some time before they come to a final belief in her being drowned. Don’t you, on any account suggest it. And should there be such search, endeavour, in a quiet way, to have it conducted in any direction but the right one. The longer before fishing the thing up, the better it will be for our purposes: you comprehend?”
“I do.”
“When found, as it must be in time, you will know how to show becoming grief; and, if opportunity offer, you may throw out a hint, having reference to Le Capitaine Ryecroft. His having gone away from his hotel this morning, no one knows why or whither—decamping in such haste too—that will be sure to fix suspicion upon him—possibly have him pursued and arrested as the murderer of Miss Wynn! Odd succession of events, is it not?”