“But the telegram which purported to have been sent by me must have been despatched from Brussels,” urged Falconer.
“Agreed, monsieur, but that telegram does not appear to have been seen. The young lady herself says that she received a message from you. She evidently did not leave it for her mother to see.”
At two o’clock next morning Geoffrey was in the express for Paris, where he arrived at breakfast time, and in frantic haste sought Mrs. Beverley.
“I can’t think what can have happened,” she said in great distress. “The other morning I went out to Armenonville with my friend, Mrs. Bridges, but Sylvia could not come, as she had an appointment at her dressmaker, Martin’s, in the Rue de la Paix. When we returned at one o’clock we found that she had gone, leaving this note.”
Geoffrey read the scribbled note of his well-beloved, which explained how soon after her mother had gone she received a wire from him urging her to come to Brussels at once, as he was in a great difficulty, so she had caught the next train.
Falconer stood staggered. He had sent no telegram, and he certainly was in no difficulty.
“It is curious that she did not leave the telegram for you to see,” remarked the young radio-engineer.
“She forgot it, I suppose,” replied the mother.
“True, but it may be that she did not go to Brussels at all! The police will probably assist us, though they are never very anxious to help when people leave home of their own accord.”
“Oh, do go and see them, Geoffrey. Do go!” Mrs. Beverley implored, for she was in a terribly agitated state of mind. She had inquired of the servants at Upper Brook Street, but they had seen nothing of Miss Sylvia.