“None whatever. In wishing me good-bye he told me that he might be leaving here very soon, and perhaps we might not have another opportunity of meeting before he went. I thanked him for walking so far with me, and we parted the best of friends.”
“He said he would be leaving Little Farncombe very soon, did he?” remarked the rector thoughtfully.
“Yes. I understood from him that he was obtaining, or had obtained, a concession to prospect for a deposit of emeralds somewhere in the Atlas Mountains, in Morocco.”
“That is true. Some ancient workings are known to exist somewhere in the wild Wad Sus region, and through a friend he has been in treaty with the Moorish Government, with the hope of obtaining the concession. If he found the mine which is mentioned by several old Arabic writers it would no doubt bring him great fortune.”
“Yes. But where can he be?”
“Who knows, Miss Sandys!” exclaimed the distracted father blankly.
“He must be found,” declared the girl. “He left me to return home. What could possibly have occurred to prevent him from carrying out his intention?”
What indeed, reflected the old man, except perhaps that he met Gordon Gray and perhaps left for London with him? He was now more than ever inclined to believe the rather vague story told by the village tobacconist.
“Yes, Miss Sandys, he must be found. I have now asked the police to circulate his description, and if he is alive no doubt he will be discovered.”
“You surely don’t suspect that something tragic has happened to him—for instance, that he has met with foul play?” cried the girl.