As soon as he was alone, Deering rang and desired that the gentleman who was waiting should be shown up. In another moment the door closed on Vincent, who was magnificent in a grand overcoat, with a sable collar and cuffs, and a pair of sealskin gloves. His finery, however, was no stay to his self-esteem, for his light-colored, hatchety face had an uneasy, crestfallen expression.
"Well," said Deering, without further salutation, "have you any news? There—sit down."
"Yes, I have news; not very satisfactory news," said Vincent in his nasal, drawling tones. "He's off!"
"Lambert! And to America?" cried Deering.
The other nodded. "I tracked him myself, saw him on board the New York steamer, and saw her steam away down the Mersey."
"Then he sailed from Liverpool? What was the meaning of that?"
"Can't tell. I think you are wrong in your conjectures. I don't think he knows any more about his daughter than we do."
"His start for America proves nothing."
"Perhaps not; but for over seven months he has been watched night and day, as you know, and not a trace of any communication with any one except business men and that woman who brought up the girl has been found."
"We don't know what his communication with her may have masked?"