“You forget, sir, that the police have no orders to take him. What I’m speculating on is the chance that he has got the money about him—say in small banknotes, for convenience of changing them, you know.”
“Well?”
“Well, sir, the people he lives among—the squint-eyed man, for instance!—don’t stick at trifles. If any of them have found out that Jervy’s purse is worth having—”
“You mean they would rob him?”
“And murder him too, sir, if he tried to resist.”
Amelius started to his feet. “Send round to the police-stations without losing another minute,” he said. “And let me hear what the answer is, the instant you receive it.”
“Suppose I get the answer late at night, sir?”
“I don’t care when you get it, night or day. Dead or living, I will undertake to identify him. Here’s a duplicate key of the garden gate. Come this way, and I’ll show you where my bedroom is. If we are all in bed, tap at the window—and I will be ready for you at a moment’s notice.”
On that understanding Morcross left the cottage.
The day when the mortal remains of Mrs. Farnaby were laid at rest was a day of heavy rain. Mr. Melton, and two or three other old friends, were the attendants at the funeral. When the coffin was borne into the damp and reeking burial ground, a young man and a woman were the only persons, beside the sexton and his assistants, who stood by the open grave. Mr. Melton, recognizing Amelius, was at a loss to understand who his companion could be. It was impossible to suppose that he would profane that solemn ceremony by bringing to it the lost woman at the cottage. The thick black veil of the person with him hid her face from view. No visible expressions of grief escaped her. When the last sublime words of the burial service had been read, those two mourners were left, after the others had all departed, still standing together by the grave. Mr. Melton decided on mentioning the circumstance confidentially when he wrote to his friend in Paris. Telegrams from Regina, in reply to his telegrams from London, had informed him that Mr. Farnaby had felt the benefit of the remedies employed, and was slowly on the way to recovery. It seemed likely that he would, in no long time, take the right course for the protection of his niece. For the enlightenment which might, or might not, come with that time, Mr. Melton was resigned to wait, with the disciplined patience to which he had been mainly indebted for his success in life.