"I made careful inquiries, interviewed some of the older school of artists, and searched London and provincial directories for some years back. Then I consulted a private detective. I put the matter in his hands. He worked on it for a couple of months, and finally said that it was too much for him. He could not discover a trace of either your sister or her husband, and he suggested that they probably emigrated to America or Australia years ago."
"That is more than possible," assented Sir Lucius; "and it is likely that they are both dead. But they may have left children, and for their sakes—". He broke off abruptly, and sighed. "I should like to have a talk with your private detective, if he is a clever fellow," he added.
"He is clever enough," Nevill replied slowly, "but I am afraid you would have to go a long distance to find him. He went to America a week ago to collect evidence for a divorce case in one of the Western States."
"Then he will hardly be back for months," said Sir Lucius. "No matter. I think sometimes that it is foolish of me to take the thing up. But when a man gets to my age, my boy, he is apt to regret many episodes in his past life that seemed proper and well-advised at the time. I am convinced that I was too harsh with your aunt. Poor Mary, she was my favorite sister until—"
He stopped, and his face hardened a little at the recollection.
"I wish I could find her," said Nevill.
"I am sure you do, my boy. I am undecided what steps to take next. It would be a good idea to stop in town for a couple of days and consult a private inquiry bureau. But no, not in this weather. I will let the matter rest for the present, and run up later on, when we get a spell of sunshine and cold."
"I think that is wise. Meanwhile I am at your service."
"Thank you. Oh, by the way, Victor, you must have incurred some considerable expense in my behalf. Let me write you a check."
"There is no hurry—I don't need the money," Nevill answered, carelessly. "I will look up the account and send it to you."