Harry Clayton's brain was very busy, for he was able to evoke from his
imagination much of that which had in reality occurred. He did not give
Lionel the credit of being worse than most young men of his age, but he
could easily surmise that he would be sure to repeat his visits to
Brownjohn Street, and now it was that he cursed his own weakness, and
blamed himself as the cause of all that had happened.
"Had I acted like a man," he groaned, "I might have saved her."
Had he not had proofs from the landlord that a regular correspondence
had been kept up with the shop in Decadia, and, as he argued, Patty
would doubtless be often there, and feel flattered by the attentions of
a baronet's son. The purchases must have been made at D. Wragg's shop,
and Patty had been used as a decoy-bird.
The character of the people seemed to increase in iniquity, as he
thought upon all the surroundings. Then he thought he would go to
Duplex Street first, but he cast the idea aside.
"They are honest people, and doubtless I should find them
broken-hearted," he mused.
It was all plain enough--thought only strengthened the conviction--the
Brownjohn Street shop had been used as a trap, and Patty the bait. The
prophecy uttered had come true--Lionel had gone there once too often.
But what had been the result? Had he gone away--not alone?--or was
there some dark deed here to be brought to light?
His thoughts changed the next moment, and, as he hurried along, he told
himself that he was, after all, perhaps only exaggerating; that this was
the nineteenth century, and that now-a-days people were not inveigled
and entrapped; that robbery was certainly common, and often accompanied
with violence; but that murder was rare, and, when committed, was for
the sake of greater gain than could be obtained from a young man going
to keep an assignation.
Harry winced as that last word occurred to him, and he strode on
swiftly, as if moved by profound agitation. Then once more he slackened
speed a little, his thoughts reverting to Jared and his wife. No; they
would never encourage anything of the kind, he was sure. Whatever
meetings had been held, must have been without their knowledge; and he
had been fool enough to clear the way at the first rebuff! Or was he
ashamed of the associations?--which was it?
Harry groaned as he strode on, and now began to try and cast aside his
fears for Lionel's safety, telling himself once more that his
imagination was clothing the affair with a tinge of romance which it did
not merit.
Brownjohn Street was as of old when he last visited the region.
Idleness was rife; and, as if waiting for work to fall into their hands,
or, more likely, not waiting for it at all, there were stout, sturdy,
soft-palmed young fellows loitering about by the score. Some were
talking, others chewing straws, and again others engaged in gambling
with halfpence on secluded portions of the pavement.
One and all had a sidelong glance for the well-dressed stranger passing
along, and many a nod and wink was given as heads were turned, more than
one of which attracted the notice of Harry; and he shudderingly wondered
what would be the consequences if he were to come here frequently--
perhaps by night--to visit some particular house, lolling insolently and
carelessly along, as he had seen Lionel do, with a contemptuous defiant
look in reply to every scowl?
Harry shuddered again as he wondered, and then he hastened his steps
involuntarily till he reached the abode of Mr D. Wragg.
Without pause, he walked boldly in, to find all apparently as when he
had seen the place last--birds, animals, all were there; but there was
no dove-scene, and in place of the soft lineaments of Patty he
encountered the swarthy face and harsh look of Janet, who was working
behind the counter, her wiry little fingers rapidly continuing the work,
although her eyes were fixed eagerly upon the new-comer.
It seemed to Harry that the girl gazed angrily at him from beneath her
dark brows, and set her teeth firmly together as she unflinchingly met
her visitor's gaze.
A dull heavy feeling of misery now seemed to press harder than ever upon
the young man's heart, as his fears in one respect seemed to meet with
confirmation. The next moment, sternly and angrily, he approached
Janet, holding her as it were with his eye, and, leaning over the
counter, he said in a low voice--
"I want his address!"
Janet did not speak, but stared at him wonderingly for a few moments,
and then, in a puzzled way, repeated his words--
"You want his address--you want his address!"
"Yes," said Harry, hastily, "I want his address;" and as he looked he
could see that, in spite of the bold way in which his eye was met, Janet
was trembling.
Harry waited for an answer, but the only words that came were--"You want
his address!"
"Yes!" exclaimed Harry, sternly. "Where is he--where has he gone? You
need not be afraid."
"Afraid!--afraid of what?" said Janet, harshly.
"There--there! let us have none of this fencing," cried Harry,
angrily--"afraid to tell me. Where is he? Has he taken her abroad?
Look here! I do not want to go to her home, for they must be in
trouble."