“And you have no idea why he should come so far to fetch a child who had nothing to do with it?”
“None, lord.” She looked up with such evident innocence that Wylie was puzzled. Maurice’s old theory that she had come among them as a spy, with possible designs upon Harold in the interests of some unknown enemy, had naturally been revived by the event, and the girl had undoubtedly blundered badly in her last answer. But it seemed hopeless to go on cross-questioning her in the hope of eliciting further admissions which led to nothing, and it was something to have gained the suggestion that Petros was presumably on his way to Therma. No more time must be lost, and he turned quickly to his wife.
“Well, Zoe, this gives us some sort of clue. Maurice and Armitage and I will search the town at once, and send parties out on all the roads. If the fellow has passed, we can catch him by the telegraph at a dozen points on the way to Therma. You and Linton had better make a thorough search of the Konak, upstairs and down. Here are the keys of all the storehouses. Perhaps the Princess will kindly let you look in all her rooms, for no one can tell where the child may have been hidden. Take Parisi and Gavril with you when you go across to the stores. And don’t be frightened. Between us we ought to be able to get the little chap back all right.”
Wylie spoke more hopefully than he felt, for the apparent purposelessness of the abduction made it difficult to deduce any conclusions from it. He had left Zoe plenty to do, and she and Eirene, tucking up their evening gowns under thick cloaks, began a systematic search of the whole rambling assemblage of buildings which constituted the Konak. Attended by the guard Gavril, armed to the teeth, and the stout Greek butler, carrying a lantern, they hunted again through all the Wylies’ rooms, then through those of the Prince’s house and the range of storehouses on the left of the courtyard, and even the barracks of the guard on either side of the gateway. The small courtyard at the back, and the garden, damp and dismal in the cold autumn night, were not forgotten, but when they came back with haggard faces, utterly exhausted, they were still unsuccessful. Most of the servants were weeping helplessly in the passages, but Linton had stirred up her friend Artemisia the cook to subdue her grief sufficiently to prepare some soup, which she coaxed her mistress to take. Zoe refused to go to bed, and Linton remained with her, leaving Danaë on guard in the nursery; and so that dreadful night passed, first one and then the other dozing off for a minute or two, then springing up in terror, and running to search in some place which might have been forgotten. It was not until morning that Wylie came stumbling uncertainly up the stairs. One glance at his worn face told his wife that his quest had been as vain as her own, but she forbore to put the fact into words.
“Dearest, you are tired out,” she said, with a tenderness that rarely found verbal expression from her lips. “Come and sit down here, and have something to eat. Linton, you kept some soup hot on the nursery stove as I told you? No, Graham, don’t talk till you have had something. You had no dinner last night, you know.” Her mouth quivered involuntarily as she remembered how Linton had broken in upon the party in the drawing-room with her terrible news. “Now here is the soup. Take it to please me.”
Utterly spent, Wylie obeyed, and not until he had finished would she let him tell his tale.
“We have sent the police through the whole town, Zoe, and searched all the inns. No one at all resembling the description of Petros has passed on any of the roads. We have telegraphed to all the places on the line, and sent out messengers where there is no wire. The people are awfully sympathetic, and they are all enlisted in the search.”
“And anyone who found him would know who he was, because of his blue eyes,” said Zoe, trying to speak cheerfully. “And no one could have the heart to hurt him, could they, Graham? when they saw his dear little face.”
“No, of course not,” said Wylie hoarsely. “Maurice and I have made plenty of enemies, no doubt, but I don’t think any of them are such curs as that.”
“Oh no, they couldn’t,” agreed Zoe. “Some one is sure to bring him back to us soon, looking so naughty and happy and smiling—Oh, Graham!” she broke down and hid her face, sobbing, on his shoulder—“Graham, if they don’t!”