"We can ask," said Auntie. "But it would take a good while to hear from India, and very likely they would have very little to tell, for there is one thing that strikes me," she went on thoughtfully, "which is, the Martons cannot have thought there was anything wrong when they got to Marseilles, otherwise they would have written or telegraphed to the Rue Verte, and certainly to the friends in England."
She looked up as if to read in the faces of her two young companions how this struck them.
"That's true," said Walter.
"But it only adds to the mystery," said Rosamond.
"Supposing," said Walter, "that the address has been lost—that of the Nestors, I mean—and that all this time Captain Bertram is hunting up and down Paris for his children?"
"That does not seem to me likely," said Auntie. "He would have telegraphed back to England."
"Where it wouldn't have been known, Rosamond," said Walter. "Rather to Mr. Marton in India."
"If he had his address," said Walter again.
"Well, anyway that could be got in England," said Auntie, a little impatiently. "No, no, Walter, it can't be that. Why, supposing Captain Bertram were here looking for his children, the police could have found them for him in a couple of days. No; I very much fear there is more wrong than a mere mistake. Poor little dears—they still seem to have such unbounded faith in 'Papa's coming.' I only trust no harm has come over him, poor man."
Walter telegraphed the next morning in his aunt's name to the two principal hotels at Marseilles, to inquire if Captain Bertram was or had been there. From one came back the answer, "No such name known." From the other the information that Captain Bertram had not yet returned from Nice, and that letters and his luggage were waiting for him at the hotel.