Harry Clayton walked hastily back towards Lionel's chambers, his mind
confused by what he had seen and heard. He was half pained, half
pleased; at one moment he felt elate, and his heart swelled joyfully.
He stopped once; should he go to Duplex Street? Then he would think of
conflicting circumstances, and depression would ensue. Thoughts that he
had believed to be crushed out were again asserting themselves; and so
pre-occupied was he, that he did not see the peering curious face of D.
Wragg, as it passed within a yard of his own, watchful as that of a
terrier after a rat.
So conflicting were Harry Clayton's thoughts, that for a while, though
not driven out, the recollection of the mission upon which he was sent
was certainly dimmed. He had been so surprised--matters had turned out
so differently to what he had anticipated; and he was so pleased to.
And that he had been in the wrong that for a time he strode on pondering
upon the pleasant vision he had left behind, till, rapidly approaching
Regent Street, the thoughts of the missing man came back with full
force, and with them a feeling of sorrow and remorse for what he was
ready now to call his forgetfulness.
Rousing himself then to a sense of duty, he hurried up the stairs, but
not so quickly that he had not time to think that there was not the
slightest necessity for the people at D. Wragg's to be put to further
trouble or annoyance. If ill had befallen Lionel on his way to or from
Decadia, they were not to blame; and it was his duty, he told himself,
to protect them. And after all, it seemed, as matters would turn out,
that Lionel had been in some other direction.
But suppose, suspicion whispered, he had been too ready, after all, to
trust to appearances; that the dark deformed girl was frightened because
she knew that he was in search of his friend, and the old Frenchman was,
after all, only an oily-tongued deceiver; while Patty--
There was a warm flush in his face as he strode up the few remaining
stairs to the room where Sir Richard Redgrave was seated, ready to start
up as the young man entered.
"Well," exclaimed the elder, "what news?"
"None, sir--at present," responded Clayton, gloomily. "I was leaning
upon a reed, and I found that it was broken."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Two days after, the following advertisement appeared in the second
column of the _Times_:--
"Two Hundred Pounds Reward.--Disappeared from his Chambers, 660 Regent
Street, on the 6th instant, Lionel George Francis Redgrave, aged 24; 5
feet 11 inches high; muscular, fair open countenance, slight moustache,
and the scar of a hunting-fall over the left temple; aquiline nose,
light-blue eyes, and closely-curling fair brown hair. Supposed to have
worn a black evening-dress suit, with light-grey Warwick overcoat.
Whoever will give such information as shall lead to his discovery, shall
receive the above reward.
"660 _Regent Street_."
"That will bring us some news, I hope, Clayton," said Sir Richard. "If
it does not at the end of a week, I shall increase it to five hundred,
and at the end of another week, I shall double it. Money must find him
if he is to be found. But we will find him," he exclaimed, fiercely,
"dead or alive--alive or dead," he repeated, with quivering lips. "With
all his light carelessness, he never let a whole week pass without
writing to me, and something fearful must have happened, I feel sure."
"Be hopeful, sir, pray," said Clayton, as he gazed in the worn and
haggard countenance of the stately old gentleman.
"I will, Clayton--I will, as long as I can; but this is hard work; and
if he is dead, it will break my heart. You ought never to have left
him," he added, reproachfully.
"I would not have done so," said Clayton, "had I possessed the slightest
influence; but during the latter part of my stay I found that he would
not submit to the slightest restraint."
"Yes, yes!" said Sir Richard; "I know how obstinate the poor boy was,"
said the old man, in tremulous tones.
"_Is_, sir--_is_" exclaimed Clayton, laying his hand upon Sir Richard's
arm.
"Yes, _is_--we will not yet despair," said Sir Richard; "but you had
influence--the influence of your quiet, firm example. But did I tell
you that I have had reward-bills _posted_ about the streets?" he added
hastily, upon seeing Harry's pained and troubled aspect.
"You did not, sir; but it was wisely done. And now it seems to me
necessary that one of us should be always here in case of information of
any kind arriving."
"I will stay," said Sir Richard; "it is my duty, though the inaction is
extremely hard to bear; but I am weak and troubled, and unable to get
about."
"You may be the first to get good news," said Harry, smiling.
"Perhaps so--perhaps so," was the reply. "I never knew before how old I
had grown. You must carry on the search; but you will come back often,
Clayton?"
"I will, sir," said Harry, gently, and soon after he left the house.
Harry's first visit was to Great Scotland Yard, where he was passed
up-stairs to a quiet ordinary-looking person, in plain clothes, who,
however, only shook his head.
"Nothing at present, sir," he said; "but do you know, sir, I think Sir
Richard Redgrave is making a mistake, sir--`too many cooks spoil the
broth!' Better have left the matter entirely to us; we're doing all we
can. Private inquiries are all very well; and Mr Whittrick's a good
man--was here, you know; but he's only good for a runaway-match or a
slope, or anything of that kind. Sir Richard's wrong, sir, depend upon
it he is."
"You must excuse it all on account of the old gentleman's anxiety," said
Harry, quietly, as, after being told for the twentieth time that
information should be forwarded the moment it arrived, he took his
leave, so as to seek the renowned Mr Whittrick, of private-inquiry fame;
but here the interview was very similar to the last; and he returned to
Sir Richard to find him restlessly pacing the room with a telegram in
his hand.
"News?" exclaimed Harry, excitedly.
"For you," said the old man, kindly; "and I hope it is good."
He handed the telegram, which had been sent down to Cambridge, and
re-transmitted. It was short and painful. Richard Pellet was the
sender, and he announced the sudden and serious illness of Mrs Richard
at Norwood--Harry arriving at his mother's bedside, but just in time to
receive her farewell.
This was a check to future proceedings, for Harry was deeply affected at
the loss. He could not recall the weak woman who had been flattered
into marriage without proper settlements by Richard Pellet, but only the
tender loving mother, who had always been ready to indulge his every
whim; and till after the funeral he was too much unhinged to do more
than quietly talk with Sir Richard, who had, on his part, little news to
give, save the usual disappointments that follow upon the offering of a
reward.
The last sad duties performed to the dead, Harry gladly returned to the
task left incomplete, seeing in it relief from his oppressive thoughts,
and an opportunity of serving one whom he looked upon as a benefactor.
Volume 2, Chapter XXI.