"From Richard Redgrave, Regent Street, to Harry Clayton, Caius College,
Cambridge.--Pray come to me directly: Lionel has disappeared."
For a few moments Harry stood with the paper half crushed in his hand, a
flood of recollections, dammed back by hard study, now sweeping all
before it, and causing him intense suffering.
"I feared as much--I might have known it would come to this," he said,
bitterly; and then he paced rapidly up and down his room, his brow knit
and the face of Patty seeming to torture him, as he tried to drive it
from his mind.
Within an hour, he was at the Cambridge Station, and in due time reached
Lionel's chambers in the Quadrant, to obtain the following brief
information from Mr and Mrs Stiff.
That Lionel Redgrave had gone out one evening--this was the eighth day
since--and had not returned. That they had waited three days, and then,
feeling very uneasy, they had written down to Elton Court to Sir Richard
Redgrave, who had immediately come up to town.
Sir Richard was now absent, but ten minutes later he returned, to greet
Harry most warmly.
He was a tall, stern, military-looking, old man, but there was a mild,
appealing look in his eye, and he seemed worn out with trouble and
anxiety, for he was clinging to his last straw--to wit, the hope that
Harry Clayton would remember enough of his son's haunts to give some
clue to his whereabouts, and thus relieve him of his horrible suspense.
"Sit down, Sir Richard," said Harry, seeing his exhaustion.
The old man--as a rule, haughty and unbending--seemed as obedient as a
child, and taking a chair, sat attentively watching the younger's
thoughtful face, as he rested his forehead upon his hand.
"He went out a week yesterday?" said Harry, after a few moments.
"Yes; this day makes the eighth."
"Do you know what money he had?"
"Nothing for certain; but I sent him a cheque for fifty pounds in excess
of his allowance, and at his wish, only two days before. See here!"
Sir Richard opened his tablets and showed Harry the memorandum.
"And look here," continued the anxious father; "he had taken this off--
roughly too," and the speaker drew from his pocket the large
old-fashioned signet-ring which the young man always wore, and which
Harry well knew, from its tightness, to have been never off the young
man's finger.
Harry took the ring, and turned it over in his hand to find that it had
been cut through in the thinnest part, evidently by the nippers of a
bullet-mould, such as he knew to be in a pistol-case in the bedroom--a
fact that he proved by opening the case, expecting that a pistol had
been taken out; but though the nippers corresponded exactly with the
cut, the pistol was in its place.
"He does not seem to have had any jewellery with him," continued Sir
Richard, "unless they are fresh purchases which I have not seen him
wear. Watch, chains, solitaires, studs, rings, are all there, but no
money."
"Ring for the landlord," said Harry abruptly; and, soon after, Mr Stiff
entered the room, to stand mildly rubbing his hands, and smoothing a few
greasy strands over the bald place on his head.
"Mr Stiff!"
"Sir to you," said the landlord, arranging his head in his all-round
collar, where it looked like a ball in a cup.
"Have you any reason to believe that Mr Redgrave had lately been in the
habit of visiting either of the low districts--Decadia, for instance?"
Harry winced as he uttered these last words, but his brow was knit, and
there was an air of determination in his face that told of a set
purpose.
"Well, sir, I don't see as I can say. You know what a gent he was for
birds and things of that sort."
"Yes, yes, exactly," said Harry, eagerly; "and who brought them?"
"Well, you see, sir, sometimes one, and sometimes another; often it
would be a little devil's imp in breeches and charity-cap, as said his
name was Ikey Bod; ketched him, I did, sliding down the French-polished
bannisters more than once when I'd gone up with things to the
drawing-room. Very often too it was that little lame man as come about
the dog being lost. But there's been nothing of that sort, sir, since
my good lady, sir, Mrs Stiff, made a few words about Mr Redgrave having
so much live-stock--tarriers, and ferrets and such--in the house."
"That will do, Mr Stiff," said Harry, quietly.
"But if I might make so bold as to say, sir--"
"That will do for the present Mr Stiff," said Harry again; and the
landlord wore quite an aggrieved aspect as he turned to leave the room.
"Do you think, then, that you have a clue?" exclaimed Sir Richard,
eagerly, as soon as they were alone.
"I do not know--I hope so--I fear so," said Harry, thoughtfully. "But
stay a while--tell me first what steps you have taken."
Sir Richard looked disappointed, but he went on speaking.
"I directly placed myself in communication with the police, but so far
they have done nothing. But I am upon thorns--what do you know?"
"Nothing for certain, Sir Richard; but let me try alone--let me see what
I can do," said Harry, thoughtfully; for he was trying to arrange his
plan of action, as he sought to pierce the cloud that seemed to be
ahead. He knew but too well, from old associations, the character of
the region which he now felt, from his own reasoning, Lionel had been in
the habit of visiting, and with this thought came a sense of misery that
crushed him.
He called up from the past a soft gentle face, and rage and jealousy
seemed for a while to make him half mad, till they passed away to make
room for a feeling of pity, as he muttered two words, "Flight--France!"
and then wiped the cold dew of perspiration from his forehead.
In a few minutes, though, he was once more himself, and sternly devoted
to the object in view.
"Yes," he said, after a pause, during which Sir Richard had watched him
as if life depended upon his words, "let me go first;" for he thought to
spare the old man pain, and prevent more than one angry scene, if that
which he surmised should prove to be true.
Sir Richard seemed too much prostrated with that which he had gone
through during the past days to offer resistance to his plans, and,
besides, he had great faith in the young man's foresight and
discernment. So, yielding at once, he consented to stay, while, with
throbbing temples, Harry Clayton turned from the house and made his way
through the labyrinth of streets which led to Decadia.
Volume 2, Chapter XVII.