He set off to walk to Tenby Terrace. He had nothing to do but to kill' time, and walking killed more time than driving. To the police and at the private inquiry-offices he had given the name of Ashington, and his address at the hotel. They had all promised to send the first intelligence there at the earliest moment. His orders had been, that if any news came, and the messenger at the hotel found him out, the messenger was to wait.
It was one o'clock when he got back to the Knightsbridge house. The cab was still standing at the door. He knocked, and was let in by Anne. There was no news. No one had come near the house since. Miss Traynor had not stirred. She had refused to go to bed up to this. She had, Anne believed, dozed in her chair. Anne had slept a few minutes.
He said he would go in and see Miss Traynor.
"Miss Traynor," said he, as he entered the room, "I have run back to say that I have been round to all the offices"--he did not mention what kind of offices--"and have given full description and instructions; and you may rely on it that, if Marion does not return here to-night, we shall know where she is, and fetch her home in the morning."
Miss Traynor had not been asleep; she was just in the same state as he had left her--half-stunned. She said:
"It is very good of you, Charlie. I am sure she will come home some time to-night. I'll sit up for her--I'll sit up; I am not sleepy. You know I often lie awake half the night. I shouldn't mind it if she had only taken a shawl--ever so light a shawl."
He told Anne, if Miss Durrant came back during the night, to send the cab instantly to his hotel.
Although he had walked a good deal that day, and had not yet fully recovered from the effects of that swim, he resolved to walk back to his hotel. All that could be done had been done, and until morning, at all events, there was nothing for him to do but wait, and the best place for waiting was at his hotel, whither the first news would be carried.
His mind was highly strung, and he went at a quick rate. He had not yet given himself time to think; he did not mean to give himself time to think. He had only one thing to do now, and that was to find May. Until she was found, all his thoughts should be centred in one idea; there would be plenty of time for thought afterwards.
He had no sensation of tenderness or love toward May in his thoughts while thinking of her flight or recovery; he felt as though he had no personal interest in the pursuit. That girl must be brought back to her home at any expense, at any risk; and he meant to bring her back, though he carried her by main force, and broke the law in so doing. To her aunt's house he would bring her, as sure as he had carried that line to that yacht. He had risked his life to save life at Silver Bay; he would risk his life, and all he was worth, to place this girl once more under her aunt's roof. When she was safe there, then he might think of other things, such as his love for her, himself, and so on.