Granger demanded briefly.
The porter shrugged his shoulders.
"Alas, monsieur, that is an impossibility. I know nothing of Mr. Austin's
destination; only that he went away yesterday, at three o'clock, in a
hackney-coach, which was to take him to the Northern Railway."
"Is there no one who can tell me what I want to know?" asked Mr. Granger.
"I doubt it, monsieur. Monsieur Austin was in debt to almost every one
except his landlord. He promised to write about his furniture,--some of
the movables in those rooms upstairs are his--cabinets, carved chairs,
tapestries, and so on; but he said nothing as to where he was going."
"He promised to write," repeated Mr. Granger. "That's an indefinite kind of
promise. You could let me know, I suppose, if you heard anything?"
"But certainly," replied the porter, who saw Mr. Granger's fingers in his
waistcoat pocket, and scented a fee, "monsieur should know immediately."
Mr. Granger wrote his address upon a card, and gave it to the porter, with
a napoleon.
"You shall have another when you bring me any information. Good-night."
At home, Daniel Granger had to face his daughter, who had heard by this
time of her stepmother's departure and the abstraction of the baby.
"O, papa," she exclaimed, "I do so feel for you!" and made as if she would
have embraced her parent; but he stood like a rock, not inviting any
affectionate demonstration.
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