"Well, not more than three letters have passed between them in all this time; nor has he remitted money in any direction, or made any expeditions beyond his daily round. He has been pretty steady in his attendance at the Bourse, and done well in a quiet way, but his life has been visible and regular. He has bothered M. Claude periodically, and he looks a good deal changed; but, no! if he knew his daughter's whereabouts he never could keep from giving some sign. He is a fiery, impulsive, open-mouthed fellow, who would be too proud of doing you to keep silent about it. If he were not within reach of the policeman he'd give me my quietus."
"No doubt," said Deering, with calm, complete acquiescence. "What is the name of the woman in Wales?"
"Mrs. Kellett."
"I thought we might have got something out of her."
"Well, I did not," returned Vincent. "Lambert was so ready to apply to her. Moreover, the man that went down to the place found she had been ill in bed at the very time Miss Lambert disappeared."
There was a pause. "It is the strangest case, I should think, that French detective ever came across," resumed Deering. "I suppose he never was baffled before. Who has any interest in taking her away? Have you any theory?"
"Not much of one. I am sometimes inclined to think she went off with Glynn. He was, I suspect, far gone about her."
"No," said Deering, thoughtfully. "No; he was with me when Lambert broke in like a madman, and no one could have aped the horror and astonishment he betrayed. No, he doesn't know anything,—or didn't a few weeks ago; but I wish to heaven he hadn't got over that fever. Should we ever find the girl we shall have to reckon with him, and he is a formidable antagonist."
"He can be dealt with, I suppose."
Deering did not heed him; he moved uneasily in his chair. His brow contracted with a look of fierce resolution. "Have you telegraphed to the New York police?"