On that date, I was composed enough to think again of Lucilla, and to
remember Mrs. Finch's polite request to me that I would write to her from
Marseilles.
I wrote briefly, telling the damp lady of the rectory (only at greater
length) what I have told here. My main motive in doing this was, I
confess, to obtain, through Mrs. Finch, some news of Lucilla. After
posting the letter, I attended to another duty which I had neglected
while my father was in danger of death. I went to the person to whom my
lawyer had recommended me, to institute that search for Oscar which I had
determined to set on foot when I left London. The person was connected
with the police, in the capacity (as nearly as I can express it in
English) of a sort of private superintendent--not officially recognized,
but secretly trusted for all that.
When he heard of the time that had elapsed without any discovery of the
slightest trace of the fugitive, he looked grave; and declared, honestly
enough, that he doubted if he could reward my confidence in him by
proving himself to be of the slightest service to me. Seeing, however,
that I was earnestly bent on making some sort of effort, he put a last
question to me in these terms:--"You have not described the gentleman
yet. Is there, by lucky chance, anything remarkable in his personal
appearance?"
"There is something very remarkable, sir," I answered.
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