“She is dead, though, if she was Geoffrey Dale Huntress’ mother—and I’m as certain of that as that I am the heir of Vue de l’Eau—for that woman, Margery, said that he could not realize his loss when she died. But who was his father?—why was he named Geoffrey Dale? by whom and why was he abandoned in the streets of New York? There is some dark secret connected with Annie Dale’s life and her disappearance from Richmond, and I shall never rest until I know the whole story from beginning to end.”
He continued his pacings and mutterings for a long while, growing more and more excited over the matter. His face wore a dark and troubled look as ever and anon he raised that scrap of paper which he still held in his hand and scanned those disjointed lines.
At last he folded it very carefully and put it safely away in his wallet.
“It may come handy some day even if the other half is wanting,” he said, an evil smile curling his lips.
Then he set about finishing the exploration of the little cottage.
There was a little hall leading from one end of the parlor and a flight of stairs conducted to the second story.
Ascending these Everet found two comfortably furnished chambers above, one of which had evidently been used for a servant’s room.
Retracing his steps he came to the front door, which he found fastened with a spring lock. He then went back to the kitchen, where he securely bolted the door, after which he passed out the front way, the lock springing into place with a sharp snap after him, as if in vigorous protest at his intrusion upon the mysteries which it had guarded for so many years.
Passing out of the little gate, he fastened it after him, then mounted his horse and rode slowly and thoughtfully back to Vue de l’Eau.