What was the explanation? Kitty wondered, much perplexed.
Her father had left Vancouver and had gone to New York--so she gathered
from the cablegram. And as he had not been to see her she concluded that
he could not be in England, and that meant in the circumstances that he
had not sailed from New York on the 21st of July as he had intended.
Gilbert had suggested to her that her father had been unexpectedly
detained, and at first, as this seemed a probable solution of the
problem, she was inclined to think this was what had occurred.
But, as she reflected further, it did not seem so likely. For supposing
he had been forced to delay his journey for a whole week, and had
exchanged his berth on the _St. Louis_ for one on the boat of the same
line sailing a week later, that is, on the 28th, there would still have
been plenty of time for him to have arrived in England and to have seen
her, as he would have reached Southampton by the 3rd of August, or by
the 4th at latest. And it was now the 9th!
As Kitty tried to puzzle the matter out, her fears, vague, but none the
less distressing, were greatly increased, and she began to suspect that
something, she knew not what, had happened to her father.
Gilbert, now as anxious as Kitty was, was at Surbiton in the evening to
hear what news she had received from Vancouver, and he was as much
bewildered as she by the cablegram from Wallace, Morris Thornton's
agent. All he could do was to remind her, as he had done before, that
the delay in her father's coming, as well as his silence, might all be
part of his scheme to "surprise" her. But Kitty replied that this made
her father out as unkind in the extreme; she was sure he would never
willingly put such a strain upon her affection.
"I can't make it out at all," she said, wrinkling her pretty brows. "It
seems very singular that he does not write."
Then an idea struck her. It was that there might be, on a careful
re-reading of the letter she had received from her father, in which he
had said he was returning to England, some words which would afford a
clue.
"I shall look at his letter again," she said to Gilbert, and went up to
her room to fetch it.
"He writes," remarked the girl, when she had brought it down, "quite
positively 'I will come in a few days after you receive this.' 'A few
days,' he says. If he had sailed on the 21st of July and came here
to-morrow--why, it would be nearly three weeks, and you can't call that
a few days."
"No," assented Gilbert; "but, Kitty, it's hardly three weeks. If he had
sailed on the 21st he would have been here about the 28th or the 29th.
You see what's left is more like ten days than three weeks. But what is
the date of your father's letter?"
"July 11th."
"And when did you get it, dear?"
"Oh, Gilbert, don't you know, don't you remember?" asked Kitty, with
some reproach in her voice. "Surely, you cannot have forgotten that I
got it on the very day you told me that you loved me!"
"Ah, sweetheart," quickly replied Gilbert, taking her hand and pressing
it tenderly, "I've been so happy that I have lost all count of time--I
forget everything but you, my darling!"
"A pretty speech," exclaimed Kitty, smiling upon him while her hand
returned the pressure of his, "and I suppose I must forgive you,
Gilbert. But about this letter of father's. Well, it came just sixteen
days ago to-day. Now, sixteen days are not exactly a few days, are
they?" she asked, sticking to her point.
"It was on the 24th that his letter came," said Gilbert.
"So you have remembered the date, sir?" cried Kitty.
"I had not really forgotten, dear; but thinking about your father had,
for the moment, put it out of mind."
"Oh, yes, I know, Gilbert," she said, a little absently.
He devoured her with eyes of love, but he noticed that her thoughts were
not with him. They had reverted to her father.
"I think I see how it all fits in," she said, after a long pause, "for
his sailing on the 21st. He wrote me on the 11th; that gave him ten days
to wind up his business in Vancouver, so far as he could wind it up, and
to get to New York in--five days in Vancouver, and five days for the
journey to New York. If he had sailed on the 21st, as he said to his
agent he would, he would have been here on the 28th or 29th, that is, in
three or four days after his letter. Now three, four, or even let us say
five days, would be a few days--just as he says in his letter. I can
see he had planned it all out, so as to fit everything in. Don't you see
that, Gilbert?"
"It certainly looks like it, dear."
"Yes, it does. It is very strange that he did not carry out his
intention. I cannot understand it. There is some mystery about it I
cannot fathom."
"It seems singular," observed Gilbert; "but I dare say that, if we knew
all the circumstances, there would be a perfectly natural explanation,
sweetheart. Pray do not give way, my darling," he besought her, but his
own manner was not reassuring.
"I cannot help being anxious," replied Kitty. Then she looked again at
the cablegram from Wallace, and said, "The agent wires, 'Your father
sailed from New York by _St. Louis_ on 21st.' That is quite definite, is
it not? And he adds, 'No further advices.' Does that mean that father
had advised Mr. Wallace that he had sailed? Oh, Gilbert, I am afraid, I
am afraid! We imagine that the agent knew only of father's intention--an
intention, we suppose, he was prevented from carrying out. But think
what it means if we are wrong in imagining this altogether! Suppose that
father did sail on the 21st! Gilbert, I am afraid," said Kitty, in a low
tone; "I am afraid," she repeated, and the girl's voice suddenly fell
into a whisper. She shivered slightly, and the tears stood in her eyes
as she clung to her lover.
Gilbert took her in his arms, soothed and caressed her. In the course of
their conversation he had tried to put the best construction on Morris
Thornton's non-appearance, but at heart he felt, like Kitty, that there
was good ground for misgiving. And to have told the girl what he knew,
but she did not know, of the serious condition of her father, would be
only to add to her trouble. As for himself, that knowledge made him
appreciate the gravity of the matter even more than she did. He
resolved, therefore, to set inquiries on foot at once, and furthermore
to set to work vigorously himself to probe the thing to the bottom.
Next morning, accordingly, he went to the office of the American Line in
London--the line of steamships to which the _St. Louis_ belonged--and
asked the clerk who waited on him for a list of the passengers who had
sailed from New York by that vessel, on July 21st.
The list was handed to him immediately. A cursory glance showed him that
the name of Morris Thornton was on it.
Dumfounded, he stared at the list, saying nothing. His surprise was so
marked that the clerk could not help noticing it, and was surprised in
his turn.
"It does not mean," said Gilbert at length, "at least, always, I
suppose, that because an individual's name is on the steamer list he
must necessarily have sailed, does it? I mean that he might be detained
at the last moment."
"That, of course, is possible," replied the clerk. "The list is printed
some little while before the ship sails. But I can tell you if there was
any one on the list who in the end did not sail, if that is what you
wish to know."
"That is very kind of you," said Gilbert, but he paused, reflecting that
a question of this kind was a somewhat delicate one. And he was aware
that the clerk was eyeing him curiously, almost suspiciously.
"Perhaps," said the clerk, "it would be simpler and better if you told
me about whom you desire to ask. Is there any name on the list in which
you are particularly interested?"
Gilbert noticed that the clerk was studying his face with marked
intentness, and he wondered why; he understood later.
"I see on the list," said Gilbert at length, "the name of Mr. Morris
Thornton."
"Mr. Morris Thornton!" exclaimed the clerk, whose tone was such as
showed there was something out of the common attaching to the name.
"Yes, Mr. Thornton," Gilbert went on. "Can you tell me if he sailed by
the _St. Louis_ on the 21st?"
"Are you a friend of Mr. Thornton's?" inquired the clerk, in an eager
voice.
"In a sense, yes," replied Gilbert. "But you have not answered my
question."
"In a sense," said the clerk, repeating Gilbert's first words; then he
continued, "I have a most special reason for asking if you are a friend
of his. What do you mean, sir, by saying that you are a friend of his in
a sense?"
"Well, I am engaged to his daughter. She expected to see her father some
days ago, but he has not arrived. She knew he intended sailing from New
York on the 21st, though she only knew of it yesterday. She became
alarmed on not seeing him or hearing from him, and she cabled to his
agent in Vancouver, and in that way learned that her father was to have
sailed on the 21st. She asked me to make inquiries. I shall be glad if
you can help me. Can you tell me if Mr. Thornton sailed on the _St.
Louis_ or not?"
"Mr. Thornton," answered the clerk, in a queer, half-frightened voice,
"did sail by the _St. Louis_!"
"What! Are you sure of that?"
"Absolutely."
Gilbert had a staggering sense that he was on the edge of some
extraordinary affair, and he gazed earnestly at the clerk, who looked at
him with corresponding intentness.
"Have you anything more to tell me?" asked Gilbert.
"I think it would be better if you spoke to the manager," said the
clerk. "Would you mind coming in to see him?"
"Not at all; but why?"
"Well, you are not the only one who has been making inquiries about Mr.
Thornton--I may tell you that; but, please come into the manager's
room."
Gilbert saw the manager, and explained his errand.
"I am afraid," said the manager, speaking in an impressive voice, "that
something may have happened to Mr. Thornton; indeed, I have very little
doubt of it."
"Why?"
"Mr. Thornton did sail from New York as he intended; not only so, he
landed at Southampton in due course, and came on to London on the 29th
of last month. On that day he took a room at the Law Courts Hotel in
Holborn. These are the facts."
"How do you know he went to the Law Courts Hotel, may I ask?"
"I have it from the hotel people themselves, and why they told me of it
you will presently understand. It appears that Mr. Thornton was a good
deal of an invalid; at any rate, shortly after he got to his hotel he
was taken very seriously ill--he had a violent heart-attack of the most
alarming character. He fell down in the hall of the hotel and became
unconscious. He was immediately conveyed to his bed and a doctor was
summoned."
"Ah," said Gilbert, interrupting him, "I knew that he had a weak heart.
But, pardon me, pray continue."
"Mr. Thornton was successfully treated by the doctor, and after some
hours recovered, but he remained in bed for the rest of that day and
most of the next."
"He got better," said Gilbert, beginning to breathe more freely. "That
is good news."
"Oh, but wait," said the manager. "I have not finished yet. He stopped
in bed at his hotel most of the next day, as I have already told
you--that was the 30th, you will remember. He improved so much that he
told the attendant who had been detailed to look after his comfort, that
he felt quite equal to getting up, and though the attendant remonstrated
with him he persisted and did get up. You follow me, Mr. Eversleigh?"
"Perfectly," replied Gilbert, who saw that something very unusual was
coming, and was most eager to hear the end of the story.
"Mr. Thornton had dinner at the _table d'hôte_--he was as well as that,
you understand. After dinner he sat for quite a time chatting with two
or three of the other guests, and, rather late in the evening, he
announced his intention of going out for a short stroll; he said the
fresh air would do him good. And he did go out."
The manager paused, and looked at Gilbert significantly.
"He went out," he resumed, "but he has never returned."