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Bodery, who were walking together, the Vicomte dropped his handkerchief. Signor Bruno attempted to pick it up, and there was a slight delay caused by the interchange of some Gallic politeness. Before the two foreigners came up with Hilda, who had walked on, Signor Bruno found time to say: "I must see you to-night, without fail; I am in a very difficult position.
She rose at length, and mechanically went to bed like one in a trance. In the same way she fell asleep. In the meantime Mr. Bodery, Sidney Carew, and the Vicomte d'Audierne were smoking in the little room at the side of the porch. A single lamp with a red shade hung from the ceiling in the centre of this room, hardly giving enough light to read by.
"Ah!" he said, with a glance towards Sidney. Perhaps the Frenchman saw the glance, perhaps he was deceived by the yawn. At all events, he rose and expressed a desire to retire to his room. He was tired, he said, having been travelling all the previous night. Mr. Bodery had not yet finished his cigar, so he rose and shook hands without displaying any intention of following the Vicomte's example.
Bodery had taken his silver pencil from his waistcoat pocket, and was rolling it backwards and forwards on the table. This was indicative of the fact that the editor of the Beacon was thinking deeply. "Ah! And how long has he been here?" "Only a few weeks." Mr. Bodery looked up sharply. "Is that all?" he inquired, with an eager little laugh. "Yes." "Then, my dear sir, Vellacott is right.
I suppose it is that I have not seen your hair as you have it to-day since then." She turned quite away from his hungry gaze, looking out of the window. After a pause she broke the silence with infinite tact not speaking too hurriedly. "It has been a terrible week," she said. "Mother heard from Mr. Bodery that they were very ill; so we came.
Before him lay a telegraph-form bearing nothing but the address C.C. BODERY, Beacon Office, Fleet St., London. He was gazing mechanically at the blank spaces waiting to be filled in, and through his mind was passing and repassing the same question that occupied the thoughts of his mother and sisters. What could be the explanation of the whistle heard by Molly?
"Not quite; there is one quicker, which you will discover some day if you overbalance at the top!" "Mr. Bodery wishes to see you, please sir!" The small boy's manner was very different from what it had been outside the door upstairs. "All right," replied Vellacott, putting on the coat he had been carrying over his arm. A peculiar smooth rapidity characterised all his movements.
I would rather have my memory confirmed by Trevetz before telling you what I know or think I know about Bruno!" Hilda was about to question him further when Molly entered the room, and the subject was perforce dropped. The next morning there came a letter for Christian from Mr. Bodery. It was short, and not very pleasant.
The sharp boy took the telegram from the editor's hand with an expression of profound respect upon his wicked features. "Go down to Banks," said Mr. Bodery, "ask him to let me have two copies of the foreign policy article in ten minutes." When the silent door was closed, Mr. Morgan wheeled round upon his heels, and gazed meditatively at his superior.
He gave a full and minute description of events previous to Christian Vellacott's disappearance, omitting nothing. The relation was somewhat disjointed, somewhat vague in parts, and occasionally incoherent. It suited Mr. Bodery admirably. In telling all about Vellacott, Sidney unconsciously told all about Mrs. Carew, Molly, Hilda, and himself.
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