“It’s pretty evident,” said Horace, handing the message to his friend, “we can’t telegraph to-day. I’ll write to Waterford and get him to tell the others. But what is the next thing to be done?”
“We can only be patient,” said Harker. “We are bound to come across him or hear of him in time.”
“He’s not likely to have gone home?” suggested Horace.
“How could he with no money?”
“Or to try to get on an American ship? We might try that.”
“Oh yes, we shall have to try all that sort of thing.”
“Well, let’s begin at once,” said Horace impatiently, “every minute may be of consequence.”
But for a week they sought in vain—among the busy streets by day and in the empty courts by night, among the shipping, in the railway-stations, in the workhouses, at the printing-offices.
Mr Sniff did them more than one friendly turn, and armed them with the talisman of his name to get them admittance where no other key would pass them. They inquired at public-houses, coffee-houses, lodging-houses, but all in vain. No one had seen a youth answering their description, or if they had it was only for a moment, and he had passed from their sight and memory.
False scents there were in plenty—some which seemed to lead up hopefully to the very last, and then end in nothing, others too vague even to attempt to follow.