He pauses abruptly; large drops of perspiration stand out upon his forehead, and his outstretched hand trembles with suppressed emotion. “Had she been lying dead anywhere in the whole land, her body would by this time have been brought to you, or at any rate news of how and where she died.”
“Hush, hush!” breaks in Mr. Warden pitifully, as, pale and tottering, he catches hold of Lord Hardcastle’s arm; “don’t speak to me in this way, Hardcastle, or you will kill me outright; this last month has made an old man of me, and a feather’s weight would knock me over now. If you can see more clearly than any of us what lies in the future, for mercy’s sake hold back the blow as long as possible.”
There is a pause of some minutes; at last, Varley jumps to his feet, impatiently—
“For Heaven’s sake, my dear fellow,” he exclaims, “don’t croak any more than you can help, but help us a little with your wisdom and advice. I have Mr. Warden’s permission to travel over the old ground again, and we are to commence this very hour; tell us what you purpose doing?”
“I shall wait and watch,” replies Hardcastle, unconsciously repeating Mr. Hill’s own words, “the clue will discover itself somewhere, somehow, when we least expect it; here, more likely, than anywhere else; and it needs a hearing ear and a seeing eye to seize and follow it up. You may wander hither and thither, if you will, I shall remain here, and wait and watch.”
“Strange,” said Mr. Warden, musingly, “your words are the echo of what was said to me yesterday, by the professional detective I employed.” Then he related to them in detail the examination of the servants by Mr. Hill, and his parting advice.
“Have the girl, Williams, in at once, Mr. Warden,” exclaims Frank, “question her as to what she has, or has not done; let me,” he adds, eagerly, “ask her one or two questions; depend upon it, they will be to the point.”
But to this the two other gentlemen object, Mr. Warden considering it an unjust thing to attach suspicion to the girl on account of the misdeeds of her brother; and Lord Hardcastle alleging that by so doing they would defeat their own object by putting the girl on her guard. “Let us wait and watch,” once more he implores. But Frank shakes his head, “Waiting and watching may suit some men,” he says, “but for me it is an impossibility. I must do something, and at once, or I shall blow my brains out; that is, if I have any,” he adds, with a grim smile, and a shrug of his shoulders.
Forthwith he departs to organize a body of volunteers once more to scour the whole county—to search commons and through woods—to cut fern and furze from shady hollows and dark corners, where, by any chance, a secret might be hidden. Once more to drag rivers and streams, and search under hedges, and in reed-grown ditches; and finally to question and re-question every man, woman, and child far or near, as to their recollection of the day’s occurrences of the 14th of August.
This was the plan of action Frank had sketched out for himself, and bravely indeed, did he carry it out. Volunteers by the score came forward, for the sympathy expressed for Mr. Warden was heartfelt, and Amy’s loss had cast a gloom over the whole county. Not a man or woman in the countryside but what would have gone to the other end of the world to have lifted from the sorrowing father and mother this dark cloud of suspense. As for the young lady herself, they would have laid down their lives for her; for her kindly, pleasant ways and pretty queenly airs, had won all hearts. And thus, high and low, rich and poor joined hands with Frank Varley, and searched with a will, working early, and working late—earnest men, at earnest work.
IV
At this time Lord Hardcastle began to be a daily visitor at the High Elms. “My own house is very dreary to me,” he had said, “may I come to you very often for an hour or so, without feeling I am intruding?” And Mr. Warden had bade him welcome, but had warned him that he would find the High Elms more than “dreary.” “To me the place is silent and gloomy as a vault or graveyard,” he said, “but I am sure the presence of a real friend like yourself will be a great comfort to Mrs. Warden, now that I am such a poor companion for her.” Thus, it came to pass that daily, about noon, Lord Hardcastle might be seen riding up the steep avenue which led to Mr. Warden’s house, returning generally about dusk to his solitary dinner, for being an orphan, and without any near relative, and naturally of a studious, reserved disposition, his privacy was very seldom broken into by chance visitors, or casual acquaintances.
As time went on, however, he frequently accepted Mr. Warden’s invitation to dine and sleep at his house; and on these occasions he would devote the entire morning to Mrs. Warden and her occupations; generally after lunch walking or riding with Mr. Warden. Thus, a week or ten days slipped away; Frank Varley and his band
