I asked Jerry what he thought.
“There might be no harm in letting Miss Fanny know, but it must depend upon whether she has got discretion or not,” said Jerry. “If she is a wise girl she will hold her tongue, and I daresay it will make her happier to hear what you wish to tell her.”
Susan at length gained her way, and, promising duly to caution Miss Fanny to be prudent, set off.
Jerry and I sat talking over matters till Susan came back.
“I am thankful I went,” she said. “I found Miss Fanny very ill, and I have hopes that the news I gave her will restore her to health faster than any doctor’s stuff.”
I told Jerry how I had hunted for the young lady’s luggage, and had been unable to find it, though she had told me the name of the inn where she had left it; and I was sure she would not have spoken falsely.
“Is the landlord still alive?” asked Jerry.
“Yes; though well in years,” I answered.
“Well, then, we will go along together, and see if we can make anything out of him,” said Jerry; and off we set. We went into the bar-room. Fortunately no one was there, so we asked the landlord to come in and have a quiet glass with a couple of old salts. He, nothing loath, came at once, for he had been a sailor himself. I never saw anybody like Jerry for leading on to a point he wanted to reach; he soon got talking about the Royal George, then he asked the landlord if he remembered the name of the young lady who came to his house the day before the wreck with a little boy.
“No,” said the landlord, “I don’t remember her name, though I do her and the little boy.”