"Perhaps," Rawson-Clew said, "you can tell me what I want to know—it is about Miss Julia Polkington. I met her in Holland during the summer."
He may have thought of giving some idea of intimacy, or of explaining his interest; but, if so, he changed his mind; anything of the kind was perfectly unnecessary to Mr. Gillat, who did not dream of questioning his reason.
"Ah, yes," he said; "Julia is in Holland; she has been there a long time."
"Is she there still?" Rawson-Clew asked. "Can you give me her address?"
"Well," Johnny said regretfully, "not exactly. But she is abroad somewhere," the last with an increase of cheerfulness, as if to indicate that this was something, at all events.
"You don't know where she is?" Rawson-Clew inquired. "Does her father? I suppose he does—some one must."
"No," Johnny said. "No; I'm afraid not. Certainly her father does not, nor her mother—none of us know; but, as you say, somebody must know—the people she is with, for instance."
Rawson-Clew grew a little impatient. "Do you mean," he said, "that her family are content to know nothing of her whereabouts? Have they taken no steps to find her?"
"Well, you see," Johnny answered slowly, "there aren't any steps to take. They don't want to find her; she is quite well and happy, no doubt, and she will come back when she is ready. Mrs. Polkington—do you know Mrs. Polkington? A wonderful woman! She is very busy just now, she is shining. Miss Chèrie is quite a belle. They really have not—have not accommodation for Julia; it is not, of course, that they don't want her—they have not exactly room for her."
"But surely they want to know where she is?" Rawson-Clew persisted.