“I can only express apologies, sir. But you will see it is my duty. You have admitted knowledge of at least one of the mysterious gang.”
“Very well,” I replied reluctantly; “make what inquiries you will.” And I gave him the address of my solicitors and my bankers.
Then, walking out of the office, I strolled down the quiet old High Street into the market place, full of evil forebodings.
Who was this man Lewis—or Louis—with whom my wife had escaped?
He was a blackguardly adventurer, anyhow. He had addressed her as “dear,” and had been solicitous of her welfare throughout! To him she had signalled from her box in the theatre, well knowing that he was making secret preparations for her elopement. Indeed, she had written that note and placed it upon my blotting-pad before we had gone forth together, she well knowing that she would never again re-cross my threshold.
Ah! The poignant bitterness of it all had gripped my heart. My cup of unhappiness was now assuredly full.
How brief had been my joy; how quickly my worst fears had been realized.
About the quiet, old-world decaying town I wandered, hardly knowing whither I went. When, every now and then, in the fading light, I found myself going into the country I turned back, mindful of my promise not to leave the place without permission.
About six I returned to the George and sat beside the fire in the lounge—in that selfsame chair where my fugitive wife had sat. I was eager to renew the chase, yet until I received word from the police I was compelled to remain helpless.
Old Cross, the boots, became inquisitive, but I evaded his questions, and ate my dinner alone in the small cosy coffee-room, awaiting the reappearance of Inspector Deane. I had given my chauffeur liberty till eight o’clock, but I was all anxiety to drive back to London.