"Is Miss Despard in?"
The servant said nothing, but ran off. Langhetti stood waiting in surprise; but in a short time the landlady came. She had a troubled look, and did not even return his salutation.
"Is Miss Despard in?"
"She is not here, Sir."
"Not here!"
"No, Sir. I"m frightened. There was a man here early this morning, too."
"A man here. What for?"
"Why, to ask after her."
"And did he see her?"
"She wasn"t here."
"Wasn"t here! What do you mean?"
"She didn"t come home at all last night. I waited up for her till four."
"Didn"t come home!" cried Langhetti, as an awful fear came over him.
"No, Sir."
"Do you mean to tell me that she didn"t come home at her usual hour?"
"No, Sir--not at all; and as I was saying, I sat up nearly all night."
"Heavens!" cried Langhetti, in bewilderment. "What is the meaning of this? But take me to her room. Let me see with my own eyes."
The landlady led the way up, and Langhetti followed anxiously. The room were empty. Every thing remained just as she had left it. Her music was lying loosely around. The landlady said that she had touched nothing.
Langhetti asked about the man who had called in the morning. The landlady could tell nothing about him, except that he was a gentleman with dark hair, and very stern eyes that terrified her. He seemed to be very angry or very terrible in some way about Beatrice.
Who could this be? thought Langhetti. The landlady did not know his name. Some one was certainly interesting herself very singularly about Cigole, and some one else, or else the same person, was very much interested about Beatrice. For a moment he thought it might be Despard.
This, however, did not seem probable, as Despard would have written him if he were coming to town.
Deeply perplexed, and almost in despair, Langhetti left the house and drove home, thinking on the way what ought to be done. He thought he would wait till evening, and perhaps she would appear. He did thus wait, and in a fever of excitement and suspense, but on going to the lodging-house again there was nothing more known about her.
Leaving this he drove to the police-office. It seemed to him now that she must have been foully dealt with in some way. He could think of no one but Potts; yet how Potts could manage it was a mystery. That mystery he himself could not hope to unravel. The police might. With that confidence in the police which is common to all Continentals he went and made known his troubles. The officials at once promised to make inquiries, and told him to call on the following evening.
The next evening he went there. The policeman was present who had been at the place when Potts met Beatrice. He told the whole story--the horses running furiously, the screams from the cab, and the appeal of Beatrice for help, together with her final acquiescence in the will of her father.
Langhetti was overwhelmed. The officials evidently believed that Potts was an injured father, and showed some coldness to Langhetti.
"He is her father; what better could she do?" asked one.
"Any thing would be better," said Langhetti, mournfully. "He is a villain so remorseless that she had to fly. Some friends received her.
She went to get her own living since she is of age. Can nothing be done to rescue her?"
"Well, she might begin a lawsuit; if she really is of age he can not hold her. But she had much better stay with him."
Such were the opinions of the officials. They courteously granted permission to Langhetti to take the policeman to the house.
On knocking an old woman came to the door. In answer to his inquiries she stated that a gentleman had been living there three weeks, but that on the arrival of his daughter he had gone home.
"When did he leave?"
"Yesterday morning."
CHAPTER XLI
THEY MEET AGAIN.
At four o"clock on the morning of Beatrice"s capture Brandon was roused by a rap at his bedroom door. He rose at once, and slipping on his dressing-gown, opened it. A man entered.
"Well?" said Brandon.
"Something has happened."
"What?"
"She didn"t get home last night. The landlady is sitting up for her, and is terribly frightened."
"Did you make any inquiries?"
"No, Sir; I came straight here in obedience to your directions."
"Is that all you know?"
"All."
"Very well," said Brandon, calmly, "you may go."
The man retired. Brandon sat down and buried his head in his hands. Such news as this was sufficient to overwhelm any one. The man knew nothing more than this, that she had not returned home and that the landlady was frightened. In his opinion only one of two things could have happened: either Langhetti had taken her somewhere, or she had been abducted.
A thousand fancies followed one another in quick succession. It was too early as yet to go forth to make inquiries; and he therefore was forced to sit still and form conjectures as to what ought to be done in case his conjecture might be true. Sitting there, he took a rapid survey of all the possibilities of the occasion, and laid his plans accordingly.
Brandon had feared some calamity, and with this fear had arranged to have some one in the house who might give him information. The information which he most dreaded had come; it had come, too, in the midst of a time of triumph, when she had become one of the supreme singers of the age, and had gained all that her warmest admirer might desire for her.
If she had not been foully dealt with she must have gone with Langhetti.
But if so--where--and why? What possible reason might Langhetti have for taking her away? This conjecture was impossible.