“But this Miss Bristowe,” he exclaimed. “Have we no means of rediscovering her?”
“At present, I am sorry to say, we haven’t,” I responded. “We may possibly get hold of Purvis’s new postal address, and if we do so it may lead us back to Miss Bristowe, who seems to me somehow associated with him. How, of course, I can’t tell.”
Reilly sat with folded arms, his clean-shaven face bearing a deep, thoughtful look as he puffed his pipe. It is not given to every one to be engaged on a treasure hunt, and from the first moment when he was told about it its interest overwhelmed him and he was eager to make a commencement.
After a long consultation it was arranged that we should both go down to Caldecott and endeavour to find out Purvis’s new address. It was also agreed that before we took another step we ought to be acquainted with the personal appearance of our rival.
To work in the dark any longer might, we foresaw, prove fatal to our object; therefore, on the following day, I introduced Reilly to the Kenways as the new tenant of the Manor House.
Fortunately they had not communicated with Purvis. Hence I took them somewhat into my confidence, and induced Mr. Kenway to write a letter to Calthorpe Street, asking whether he intended to take the house, and requesting the favour of a reply.
This he did at my dictation, and I had the satisfaction of putting the letter in the post-box at Rockingham. By that ruse I hoped to gain knowledge of Purvis’s new address. As had already been proved, he was what is vulgarly known as “a slippery customer,” but both Reilly and myself determined that if we once knew his postal address we would very quickly come up with him.
We had taken up our quarters at the Sonde Arms, at Rockingham, and very comfortable and rustic they were after the dust and heat of London. My long and unavailing vigil in that stifling side street had rather pulled me down. Day after day I had waited there, often hungry and thirsty, and at all times dusty and uncomfortable, compelled to eat as I could, and to hobnob with all and sundry, until my very heart seemed stifled by the dust of the throbbing city.
But in old-world Rockingham, even on the most sultry day, were soft zephyrs that fanned our cheeks. We ate in a room at the back, and to us, through the open window, came the sweet scent of the climbing roses and honeysuckle, and the mingled perfume of the old-fashioned cottage garden behind. The fare was plain and wholesome, the ale home-brewed and of the best, and we also had an opportunity to gossip with the drink-sodden old simpleton Ben Knutton.
The Kenways were looking for other quarters, therefore we could not yet take possession of the Manor House. Reilly had given forth that he was a student, a man of means, and something of an invalid, therefore he had hired the house for the purposes of being quiet and able to study without such distractions as there were in London.