The boy had left no trace behind. The distracted father advertised for him right and left, placed the matter in the hands of the police, seeking for him on every side without finding the slightest clue to tell him if his son were alive or dead.
Matters were in this state when Mr. Yates had left for Brittany. He had been there some days, when, wandering somewhat out of the beaten track, he had chartered a carriage at Morlaix to take him up among those wind-swept slopes which are grandiloquently termed the Montagnes d'Arree, and land him at the little town of Huelgoet. There are one or two things which people go to see at Huelgoet, but the place became memorable to Mr. Yates for what he saw upon the road.
He was about half-way to his destination when he observed, lying among the furze at the roadside, a lad. He might not have noticed him had not the boy been emitting cries of so peculiar a kind that they could scarcely have failed to catch a traveller's ear. Going to see what was the matter, he perceived at once that the lad was delirious with fever.
With some difficulty he persuaded the driver of the vehicle to convey so dubious a passenger. The same difficulty occurred at the Huelgoet hotel before they would let him in. It was only when he had undertaken to recoup them for any losses they might sustain, and had got the lad comfortably in bed, that he discovered that the waif who had found in him such a good Samaritan was none other than Bertie Bailey.
* * * * * *
So soon as they could move him they took him home. And, as he entered the old familiar home, he knew in his heart that this place which he was entering was in fact the Land of Golden Dreams. He had been in search of it afar off, and he had been a native of the country all the time. And there are many natives of that country who throw away the substance to grasp the shadow, not realizing their folly till the thing is done.
* * * * * *
They never found the "captain" nor "Mr. Rosenheim." In due time Bertie told his story, and the doctor thought it so strange an one that he felt in duty bound to communicate with the police. A detective came and heard all that Bertie had to say. He asked a hundred puzzling questions; but, although not always able to answer them to the detective's satisfaction, Bertie stuck to his tale. They took him to point out the house which had contained the "captain's room," but he had been a stranger in the great city, at night, hungry and worn. He had gone blindly where he had been taken, not noticing a single landmark by the way, and now when they asked him to retrace his steps, and lead them where Freddy had led him, he found it impossible to discover the house again.
So it came to pass that the police looked at his story with doubtful eyes. And for that cause--or some other--nothing has been heard of the Countess of Ferndale's jewels unto this day.