When Cheyne returned to the hotel, he found clues had accumulated during his absence, but that nothing more important than clues had turned up. He wrote a brief note to Miss Traynor, saying they had certain intelligence of Marion; that he had been to a house in which she had sought lodgings last night; and that there could now be no doubt Marion would be restored to her friends in a very short time. He did not name any exact hour, or even day, for her return; for, warned by his hasty prophecy of the night before, he did not care to risk another disappointment. In avoiding prophecy, he did not wholly, or even to any large extent, consider Miss Traynor's ease of mind, for, from what he had seen of her since Marion's flight, he did not think theory or hope likely to be of any great good. "Nothing," he said to himself, "but the sight of Marion, and the touch of her hand, will rouse the poor old lady from her lethargy." But he forbore to prophesy, because he did not wish to be again mistaken to himself. He would admit no sentimental thoughts into his mind until the mere business of the case had been discharged--until Marion was once more under the protection of her aunt; and in the meantime he must not exhaust his hope or energy by placing limits to her absence, only to find these limits overpassed.
It was past ten o'clock when Cheyne got back to his hotel. He had two great desires in this unhappy affair. One was that his own rank should not ooze out, and the other that the utmost possible secrecy should be observed. These two wishes were indeed only two parts of the one, for, if it were known that the Duke of Shropshire had a case in the hands of the detectives, it would be sure to get into the papers; and, if anyone knew that Miss Durrant had left her home alone without consulting her friends or guardians, it would very soon be known the relation in which she stood to him. Accordingly, he telegraphed to Miss Traynor's servant that she was not to open the door that day to any one whatsoever until he saw her; for he very well knew that if Anne allowed an acquaintance of either of the ladies in, or even if she stood talking for a few seconds at the open door, the secret would be over the whole district in an hour. Having despatched the telegram, he adopted another precaution. He sent down one of the private-inquiry men to Tenby Terrace with instructions that he was to stay in the house, to open the side-door as far as was absolutely necessary, and to see that no one went into or came out of the house. Of course Anne was in the secret, and might tell at some later day, even though a curb was now placed on her natural loquacity; still, sufficient for the day is the evil thereof, and later on he could devise means of insuring her permanent silence. In order most effectually to guard against the danger of his rank being discovered, he thought the best thing for him to do would be to retire from the active conduct of the search. He therefore resolved to place it in the hands of Macklin and Dowell, and at about eleven o'clock he found himself detailing the facts of the evening and night to Mr. Macklin, who promised to do all he could, and undertook to say that there was no doubt whatever that the young lady would be discovered that day before set of sun.
Mr. Macklin was very unlike the typical family London lawyer. He was low of stature, well-proportioned, fresh-complexioned, and abrupt and forcible in speech. He had a decidedly horsey appearance, although, as a matter of fact, he took as little interest in horses as any man within the sound of Big Ben. Although he was a solicitor, he hated law, and left all the legal elements of the firm to his partner. But he had a taste for business which did not wear a strictly legal aspect, and he entered into the ordinary and extraordinary affairs of the clients with a zest which made him cheering to his own side and irresistible against those on the other. Cheyne had known him, and liked him, before the great change had taken place in his fortunes; and one of the chief pleasures he had in contemplating his good luck was that by means of it he could do a service to Macklin by appointing his firm law-agents to the Shropshire property. Macklin was the quickest and most ready of men. When a thing was proposed to him he never made a difficulty. He either instantly declared the thing to be impossible, or he went about doing it with all his heart and soul, and with such a manner of conviction he was right that it seemed an outrage on common sense to oppose him.
Cheyne asked the lawyer if there was anything more he would recommend to be done.
"No," said Macklin, "leave it all in the hands of Bracken now. You could not possibly have done better. There is not a more intelligent, conscientious, and painstaking man in the Yard. You may do what you like, go where you please. Take my word for it, things will turn out as I say, and before dark you will be at rest."
"And now," said Cheyne, "I want you to do something for me. I told you of the way in which we heard of her?"
"Yes, yes, of course, through the old widow lady; of course. Somewhere in Kennington. I wonder you found a lady keeping lodgings there. My impression was, and is still, that with the one exception you met, every lodging-house is kept by a retired upper servant. But you were about to say----?"
"The house is No. 8, Garthorne Road, Kennington, and I want you, if you can, to buy it for me. I know this is rather a strange thing to ask you, for of course the house may not be for sale."
"Any limit as to price, your grace."
"No; no limit."