"Have you succeeded?" Jack demanded, impatiently.
"Yes, I have found her," Jimmie replied. "It was by a mere fluke. I went to a solicitor on some business, and it turned out that he was acting for Miss Foster—you see her father left a good bit of money. He was close-mouthed at first, but when I partly explained how matters stood, he told me that the girl and her old servant, Mrs. Sedgewick, went off to a quiet place in the country—"
"And he gave you the address?"
"Yes; here it is!"
Jack took the piece of paper, and when he glanced at it his face flushed. He wrung his friend's hand silently, looking the gratitude that he could not utter, and then he made a bolt for the door.
"I'm off," he said, hoarsely. "God bless you, Jimmie—I'll never forget this!"
"Sure you feel fit enough?"
"Quite; don't worry about that."
"Well, good luck to you, old man!"
Jack shouted good-by, and made for Piccadilly. He sprang into the first cab that came along, and he reached Waterloo just in time to catch a Shepperton train. He longed to be at his destination, and alternate hopes and fears beset him, as he watched the landscape flit by. He drew a deep breath when he found himself on the platform of the rustic little station. It was a beautiful spring-like day, warm and sunny, with birds making merry song and the air sweet and fragrant. He started off at a rapid pace along the hedge-bordered road, and, traversing the length of the quaint old village street, he stopped finally at a cottage on the farther outskirts. It was a pretty, retired place, lying near the ancient church-tower, and isolated by a walled garden full of trees and shrubbery.