CHAPTER XXXVII.—THE SEARCH.
It was the first great shock that Forster had ever felt during a life of quiet activity, marked from time to time by small and frequently ignoble troubles; and it struck him like a thunderbolt—to use the familiar but terribly expressive simile. When he came to himself, he was like a man mentally stupefied and physically decrepit. He read the letter over and over again, and wept over it; and the more he read it, the less he understood its true meaning. Only one thing was clear—that Madeline had left his house of her own freewill, with no intention of returning, and with no hint of any reason for her flight.
Despite his sister’s entreaties, he himself left the house in search of the fugitive. It was now long past midnight, and the rain was still falling heavily; but he buttoned his greatcoat round him, and rushed out into the street.
His first inquiries were of the policemen in the neighbourhood, but they could tell him nothing. He hastened then to the nearest cabstand, thinking that possibly Madeline might have hired a vehicle there; but he gained no information. Then he stood helpless under the dark sky, in the midst of the great city, uncertain which way to turn.
For he had not the slightest clue to guide him in his search. Madeline had no friends in the city to whom she might fly; none, certainly to his knowledge, and White himself had told him that she was a friendless orphan. The thought of White, however, brought up the recollection of Madame de Berny, who had been keeping house for White when he died, and who was still, thanks to Forster’s assistance, in possession of the old quarters, which she let in lodgings. It was just possible Madeline might have gone there.
The thought was enough. He hailed a hansom, and was driven rapidly to St. John’s Wood.
He was doomed to disappointment. When he had aroused the sleeping house, and scared Madame de Berny out of her wits by the sight of his haggard, spectral face, he found that the poor soul knew nothing. He hurried away with scarcely a word of explanation.
All that night he haunted the streets, seeking for a trace of any kind. Of course, it was in vain.