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The servants believed," he added, after a pause, "that she was coming straight to you; she had, it seems, taken some luggage to the station the day before, and seen personally to its despatch." There was a pause; neither spoke for some moments, and Madame de Léra noticed that Vanderlyn had not asked her if Peggy's luggage had arrived at her house.
Without asking his name or business, the servant showed him straight into a square, gold-and-white salon. Standing there, forgetful for a moment of his distasteful errand, Vanderlyn looked about him with mingled contempt and disgust, for his eyes, trained to observe, had at once become aware that the note of this room was showy vulgarity.
Vanderlyn made up his mind to spend the whole of the next day with Pargeter; he must be at the villa, ready to put in his word of advice, even, if need be, of suggestion, when the moment came for him to do so. For the first time for many nights Vanderlyn's sleep was unbroken; and early the next morning he made his way to the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne.
Vanderlyn bent his head without speaking; nay more, a look of pain came over his tired face, and sunken eyes, for, strangely enough, there was a certain sinister parallel between the fate which had befallen the charming girl whose image was thus suddenly brought up before him, and that of the beloved woman who seemed to be now even more present to his emotional memory than she had been in life.
I feel too much alone, too entirely unconnected with the world, to take much interest in any thing. Yet, without the smallest solicitude about the result, I shall certainly not fail to discharge my public duty, whenever the opportunity occurs, by giving a very strong and frank expression of my opinion on the subject suggested. Vanderlyn, I perceive from the papers, has returned to New-York.
"This is the house, sir," said the chauffeur abruptly. Vanderlyn jumped out, and rang a primitive bell; he waited some minutes and then rang again. At last he heard the sound of steps hurrying along a gravel path; and the gate was opened by an old woman. "You have come to the wrong house," she said curtly, "this is Madame de Léra's villa."
He remained sitting where he was; and, placing his two fat hands firmly on his knees, sat looking at the American's tall figure. Slowly his eyes travelled up till they rested on his host's haggard face. "Then I am to understand, Mr. Vanderlyn, that you are not in a position to give me any help? That is your last word?" Vanderlyn suddenly determined to carry the war into the enemy's country.
The police are particularly keen that we should look over any old letters of hers; they think that we might find some kind of clue. But I don't believe she kept her letters why should she? I don't keep mine. However, I've promised to do the job myself " he looked uncertainly at Vanderlyn. "Would you mind, Grid, coming with me into Peggy's room?
Like so many modern Americans, to whom every material manifestation of wealth has become distasteful, Laurence Vanderlyn had chosen to pitch his Paris tent on the top floor of one of those eighteenth-century houses which, if lacking such conveniences as electric light and lifts, can command in their place the stately charm and spaciousness of which the modern Parisian architect seems to have lost the secret.
They heard Strefford's shrill voice on the stairs. "Ellie, where the deuce are you? Susy's in the gondola. You'll miss the train!" Lansing stood up and caught Mrs. Vanderlyn by the wrist. "What do you mean? What are you talking about?" "Oh, nothing... But you were both such bricks about the letters.... And when Nelson was here, too.... Nick, don't hurt my wrist so! I must run!"
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