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day　for　that。〃







The　Editor　looked　up　instinctively。　　The　clock　was　pointing　at　a



quarter　to　five。　　〃Yes；　it　is；〃　he　admitted。　　〃But　it　needn't　be。



And　he　may　have　lit　out　into　the　Western　Pacific　all　of　a　sudden　…



say　in　a　trading　schooner。　　Though　I　really　don't　see　in　what



capacity。　　Still　。　。　。　〃







〃Or　he　may　be　passing　at　this　very　moment　under　this　very　window。〃







〃Not　he　。　。　。　and　I　wish　you　would　get　away　from　it　to　where　one



can　see　your　face。　　I　hate　talking　to　a　man's　back。　　You　stand



there　like　a　hermit　on　a　sea…shore　growling　to　yourself。　　I　tell



you　what　it　is；　Geoffrey；　you　don't　like　mankind。〃







〃I　don't　make　my　living　by　talking　about　mankind's　affairs；〃



Renouard　defended　himself。　　But　he　came　away　obediently　and　sat



down　in　the　armchair。　　〃How　can　you　be　so　certain　that　your　man



isn't　down　there　in　the　street？〃　he　asked。　　〃It's　neither　more　nor



less　probable　than　every　single　one　of　your　other　suppositions。〃







Placated　by　Renouard's　docility　the　Editor　gazed　at　him　for　a



while。　　〃Aha！　　I'll　tell　you　how。　　Learn　then　that　we　have　begun



the　campaign。　　We　have　telegraphed　his　description　to　the　police　of



every　township　up　and　down　the　land。　　And　what's　more　we've



ascertained　definitely　that　he　hasn't　been　in　this　town　for　the



last　three　months　at　least。　　How　much　longer　he's　been　away　we



can't　tell。〃







〃That's　very　curious。〃







〃It's　very　simple。　　Miss　Moorsom　wrote　to　him；　to　the　post　office



here　directly　she　returned　to　London　after　her　excursion　into　the



country　to　see　the　old　butler。　　Well　…　her　letter　is　still　lying



there。　　It　has　not　been　called　for。　　Ergo；　this　town　is　not　his



usual　abode。　　Personally；　I　never　thought　it　was。　　But　he　cannot



fail　to　turn　up　some　time　or　other。　　Our　main　hope　lies　just　in　the



certitude　that　he　must　come　to　town　sooner　or　later。　　Remember　he



doesn't　know　that　the　butler　is　dead；　and　he　will　want　to　inquire



for　a　letter。　　Well；　he'll　find　a　note　from　Miss　Moorsom。〃







Renouard；　silent；　thought　that　it　was　likely　enough。　　His　profound



distaste　for　this　conversation　was　betrayed　by　an　air　of　weariness



darkening　his　energetic　sun…tanned　features；　and　by　the　augmented



dreaminess　of　his　eyes。　　The　Editor　noted　it　as　a　further　proof　of



that　immoral　detachment　from　mankind；　of　that　callousness　of



sentiment　fostered　by　the　unhealthy　conditions　of　solitude　…



according　to　his　own　favourite　theory。　　Aloud　he　observed　that　as



long　as　a　man　had　not　given　up　correspondence　he　could　not　be



looked　upon　as　lost。　　Fugitive　criminals　had　been　tracked　in　that



way　by　justice；　he　reminded　his　friend；　then　suddenly　changed　the



bearing　of　the　subject　somewhat　by　asking　if　Renouard　had　heard



from　his　people　lately；　and　if　every　member　of　his　large　tribe　was



well　and　happy。







〃Yes；　thanks。〃







The　tone　was　curt；　as　if　repelling　a　liberty。　　Renouard　did　not



like　being　asked　about　his　people；　for　whom　he　had　a　profound　and



remorseful　affection。　　He　had　not　seen　a　single　human　being　to　whom



he　was　related；　for　many　years；　and　he　was　extremely　different　from



them　all。







On　the　very　morning　of　his　arrival　from　his　island　he　had　gone　to　a



set　of　pigeon…holes　in　Willie　Dunster's　outer　office　and　had　taken



out　from　a　compartment　labelled　〃Malata〃　a　very　small　accumulation



of　envelopes；　a　few　addressed　to　himself；　and　one　addressed　to　his



assistant；　all　to　the　care　of　the　firm；　W。　Dunster　and　Co。　　As



opportunity　offered；　the　firm　used　to　send　them　on　to　Malata　either



by　a　man…of…war　schooner　going　on　a　cruise；　or　by　some　trading



craft　proceeding　that　way。　　But　for　the　last　four　months　there　had



been　no　opportunity。







〃You　going　to　stay　here　some　time？〃　asked　the　Editor；　after　a



longish　silence。







Renouard；　perfunctorily；　did　see　no　reason　why　he　should　make　a



long　stay。







〃For　health；　for　your　mental　health；　my　boy；〃　rejoined　the



newspaper　man。　　〃To　get　used　to　human　faces　so　that　they　don't　hit



you　in　the　eye　so　hard　when　you　walk　about　the　streets。　　To　get



friendly　with　your　kind。　　I　suppose　that　assistant　of　yours　can　be



trusted　to　look　after　things？〃







〃There's　the　half…caste　too。　　The　Portuguese。　　He　knows　what's　to



be　done。〃







〃Aha！〃　　The　Editor　looked　sharply　at　his　friend。　　〃What's　his



name？〃







〃Who's　name？〃







〃The　assistant's　you　picked　up　on　the　sly　behind　my　back。〃







Renouard　made　a　slight　movement　of　impatience。







〃I　met　him　unexpectedly　one　evening。　　I　thought　he　would　do　as　well



as　another。　　He　had　come　from　up　country　and　didn't　seem　happy　in　a



town。　　He　told　me　his　name　was　Walter。　　I　did　not　ask　him　for



proofs；　you　know。〃







〃I　don't　think　you　get　on　very　well　with　him。〃







〃Why？　　What　makes　you　think　so。〃







〃I　don't　know。　　Something　reluctant　in　your　manner　when　he's　in



question。〃







〃Really。　　My　manner！　　I　don't　think　he's　a　great　subject　for



conversation；　perhaps。　　Why　not　drop　him？〃







〃Of　course！　　You　wouldn't　confess　to　a　mistake。　　Not　you。



Nevertheless　I　have　my　suspicions　about　it。〃







Renouard　got　up　to　go；　but　hesitated；　looking　down　at　the　seated



Editor。







〃How　funny；〃　he　said　at　last　with　the　utmost　seriousness；　and　was



making　for　the　door；　when　the　voice　of　his　friend　stopped　him。







〃You　know　what　has　been　said　of　you？　　That　you　couldn't　get　on　with



anybody　you　couldn't　kick。　　Now；　confess　…　is　there　any　truth　in



the　soft　impeachment？〃







〃No；〃　said　Renouard。　　〃Did　you　print　that　in　your　paper。〃







〃No。　　I　didn't　quite　believe　it。　　But　I　will　tell　you　what　I



believe。　　I　believe　that　when　your　heart　is　set　on　some　object　you



are　a　man　that　doesn't　count　the　cost　to　yourself　or　others。　　And



this　shall　get　printed　some　day。〃







〃Obituary　notice？〃　Renouard　dropped　negligently。







〃Certain　…　some　day。〃







〃Do　you　then　regard　yourself　as　immortal？〃







〃No；　my　boy。　　I　am　not　immortal。　　But　the　voice　of　the　press　goes



on　for　ever。　。　。　。　And　it　will　say　that　this　was　the　secret　of　your



great　success　in　a　task　where　better　men　than　you　…　meaning　no



offence　…　did　fail　repeatedly。〃







〃Success；〃　muttered　Renouard；　pulling…to　the　office　door　after　him



with　considerable　energy。　　And　the　letters　of　the　word　PRIVATE　like



a　row　of　white　eyes　seemed　to　stare　after　his　back　sinking　down　the



staircase　of　that　temple　of　publicity。







Renouard　had　no　doubt　that　all　the　means　of　publicity　would　be　put



at　the　service　of　love　and　used　for　the　discovery　of　the　loved　man。



He　did　not　wish　him　dead。　　He　did　not　wish　him　any　harm。　　We　are



all　equipped　with　a　fund　of　humanity　which　is　not　exhausted　without



many　and　repeated　provocations　…　and　this　man　had　done　him　no　evil。



But　before　Renouard　had　left　old　Dunster's　house；　at　the　conclusion



of　the　call　he　made　there　that　very　afternoon；　he　had　discovered　in



himself　the　desire　that　the　search　might　last　long。　　He　never



really　flattered　himself　that　it　might　fail。　　It　seemed　to　him　that



there　was　no　other　course　in　this　world　for　himself；　for　all



mankind；　but　resignation。　　And　he　could　not　help　thinking　that



Professor　Moorsom　had　arrived　at　the　same　conclusion　too。







Professor　Moorsom；　slight　frame　of　middle　height；　a　thoughtful　keen



head　under　the　thick　wavy　hair；　veiled　dark　eyes　under　straight



eyebrows；　and　with　an　inward　gaze　which　when　disengaged　and



arriving　at　one　seemed　to　issue　from　an　obscure　dream　of　books；



from　the　limbo　of　meditation；　showed　himself　extremely　gracious　to



him。　　Renouard　guessed　in　him　a　man　whom　an　incurable　habit　of



investigation　and　analysis　had　made　gentle　and　indulgent；　inapt　for



action；　and　more　sensitive　to　the　thoughts　than　to　the　events　of



existence。　　Withal　not　crushed；　sub…ironic　without　a　trace　of



acidity；　and　with　a　simple　manner　which　put　people　at　ease　quickly。



They　had　a　long　conversation　on　the　terrace　commanding　an　extended



view　of　the　town　and　the　harbour。







The　splendid　immobility　of　the　bay　resting　under　his　gaze；　with　its



grey　spurs　and　shining　indentations；　helped　Renouard　to　regain　his



self…possession；　which　he　had　felt　shaken；　in　coming　out　on　the



terrace；　into　the　setting　of　the　most　powerful　emotion　of　his　life；



when　he　had　sat　within　a　foot　of　Miss　Moorsom　with　fire　in　his



breast；　a　humming　in　his　ears；　and　in　a　complete　disorder　of　his



mind。　　There　was　the　very　garden　seat　on　which　he　had　been



enveloped　in　the　radiant　spell。　　And　presently　he　was　sitting　on　it



again　with　the　professor　talking　of　her。　　Near　by　the　patriarchal



Dunster　leaned　forward　in　a　wicker　arm…chair；　benign　and　a　little



deaf；　his　big　hand　to　his　ear　with　the　innocent　eagerness　of　his



advanced　age　remembering　the　fires　of　life。







It　was　with　a　sort　of　apprehension　that　Renouard　looked　forward　to



seeing　Miss　Moorsom。　　And　strangely　enough　it　resembled　the　state



of　mind　of　a　man　who　fears　disenchantment　more　than　sortilege。　　But



he　need　not　have　been　afraid。　　Directly　he　saw　her　in　a　distance　at



the　other　end　of　the　terrace　he　shuddered　to　the　roots　of　his　hair。



With　her　approach　the　power　of　speech　left　him　for　a　time。　　Mrs。



Dunster　and　her　aunt　were　accompanying　her。　　All　these　people　sat



down；　it　was　an　intimate　circle　into　which　Renouard　felt　himself



cordially　admitted；　and　the　talk　was　of　the　great　search　which



occupied　all　their　minds。　　Discretion　was　expected　by　these　people；



but　of　reticence　as　to　the　object　of　the　journey　there　could　be　no



question。　　Nothing　but　ways　and　means　and　arrangements　could　be



talked　about。







By　fixing　his　eyes　obstinately　on　the　ground；　which　gave　him　an　air



of　reflective　sadness；　Re