“The recovery of the child does not, unfortunately, depend on mere money, my lord.”
“On what, then?”
“On possibility. If it is possible to be done it will be done; and whether we succeed or fail, you may rely on no time being lost. Will your lordship kindly give me all the particulars?”
The father told the history of the boy’s abduction, as Mrs. Grandison had given it to him.
“And this foreign, handsome lady who took the child away, do you happen to know her name?”
Did he happen to know Lucille’s name! Good Heavens, how strange such a question seemed! But it was one thing to know her name, and vow hatred of her, and another thing to give to the police the name of a woman he once made love to. He hesitated.
The inspector looked up from the sheet of paper on which he had been taking down the particulars.
The inspector, believing the other had not heard, repeated the question.
“Bah!” thought Lord Francis, “why should I hesitate? She has not hesitated to lie and to steal Ronny; and Fenella’s life is in the scales.” He said aloud: “The lady is French;” the inspector recommenced writing; “her name is Mme. de Vigny.”
The inspector looked up again, this time with a start, laid down his pen, and cleared his throat as though to clear his mind. “May I ask your lordship to repeat the name?”