Part 115 (1/2)
”Yes, of course.”
”And you heard his voice?”
”Yes.”
”Broken French?”
”Yes.”
”Now, sir, just think a moment. I have a slight idea. French name-- spoke--”
”We mentioned no name.”
”One minute, sir. Spoke French--brother's fellow-clerk and intimate-- gentleman who went off--been staying at the house--long time in the lady's society. What do you say now to its being this Mr Pradelle?”
Uncle Luke gave the table a thump which made the tea-things rattle, and Leslie started from his seat, gazing wildly at the officer, who smiled rather triumphantly.
”Great Heavens!” faltered Leslie, as if a new light had flashed into his darkened mind.
”Of course, sir, this is only a suggestion,” said the sergeant. ”It is all new to me; but seems likely.”
”No,” said Uncle Luke emphatically, ”no. She would never have gone off with him.”
”Very good, gentlemen. I'll see what I can do at once.”
”One moment,” said Leslie as he slipped some notes into the man's hand.
”You will spare neither time nor money.”
”I will not, sir.”
”Tell me one thing. What shall you do first?”
”Just the opposite to what you've done, gentlemen,” said the officer.
”What do you mean?”
”Go down to Hakemouth by to-night's mail, and work back to town.”
”I feel certain,” said Leslie, ”that he brought her to London to take tickets for France.”
”I don't, sir, yet. But even if I did, it's a long bridge from here to Cornwall, and I might find them resting in one of the recesses. You leave it to me, sir. Good-day.
”Humph!” he added as he went out; ”plain as a pikestaff. Women are womanly, and I have known instances of a woman sticking to a man for no reason whatever, except that he was a scamp, and sometimes the greater the scamp the tighter the tie. Pradelle's my man, and I think I can put my thumb upon him before long.”
”No, Leslie, no. Louy wouldn't look at him. That's not the clue,” said Uncle Luke.
CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT.