I don't know."
There was another silence. Then the conversation drifted back once more
to the one subject which was monopolizing the thought of both of them.
"I tell you what seems to me to be the most extraordinary part of the
whole business," Duncombe said. "First the brother disappears. Then
without a word to any one the sister also rushes off to Paris, and
vanishes from the face of the earth after a series of extraordinary
proceedings. One supposes naturally that if they have come to harm
anywhere--if there has been a crime--there must have been a motive. What
is it? You say that their banking account has been undisturbed?"
"It was last week. I should hear if any cheques were presented."
"And the boy's letter of credit even has never been drawn upon!"
"No! Not since he left Vienna."
"Then the motive cannot be robbery. Thank Heaven," Duncombe added, with
a little shudder, "that it was the boy who went first."
"Don't!"
A great winged insect came buzzing into the room. Duncombe struck
viciously at it with the palm of his hand.
"Lord!" he muttered, "what a fool I am! I've never been away from home
before, Andrew, without longing to get back, and here I am, just back
from Paris in August, from turning night into day, from living just the
sort of life I hate, and I'd give anything to be going back there
to-morrow.
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