here, now, are the present employment and emotions of five of our characters—tommy, with car and chauffeur, off to devonshire, which was to be the starting-point of his search for a man with a peacock feather in his hat; general carden watching hourly (though it was far too soon to begin to watch) for a telegram which should acquaint him of the success of the search; anne alternating between waves of pride and despair and delicious secret joy; and muriel spending hours with st. joseph, imploring the dear saint to hurry up with the job he had so successfully begun.
the intervals between these visits she spent mainly with anne, rejoicing with her in her happier moods, encouraging, chiding, sympathizing when the waves of despair rolled high. muriel alone knew to the full the heart of this woman friend of hers, saw the proud spirit a captive between the hands of love, realized what the captivity meant to her.
as for our fifth character, millicent sheldon, a pretty truthful rumour of tommy’s expedition having reached her, her feelings were at first distinctly mixed, though it is certain that presently she found a method of adjusting them to her own satisfaction. after all, it was unquestionably the hand of providence which had removed the somewhat impecunious peter from her life and given her in exchange the solid theobald horatio, with his equally solid income acquired from the patent of the little brushes which, being fixed behind carts, kept the london streets in a cleanly condition. it is not to be supposed that she dwelt upon these brushes; those articles had long ago been firmly obliterated from her mind. it was in the solid income alone that she saw the hand of providence and realized that all had undoubtedly been for the best. had peter’s innocence been apparent from the outset, there would have been no excuse for the letter she had penned him at the time of his release from jail. of a former letter, written on the first hearing of his accusation and conviction, [pg 291]she did not care to think. if she thought of it at all at this juncture it was to tell herself the letter had been prompted by an impulse of pity, the folly of which was shown her later by calm reason. that reason had been aided by the advent of theobald horatio sheldon on her horizon, she naturally did not care to allow. it was, however, her inadvertent mention of this first letter and the subsequent events to anne which had caused her to break a second time in anne’s eyes.
but why dwell on her further? let her remain satisfied, as she protests she is, in the possession of her theobald, her little theobalda, and her theobald’s solid income. her influence on these pages has ceased; our acquaintance with her may well cease also.
tommy’s expedition was certainly not all joy. the month of january is hardly one to be willingly chosen for a motor tour through england, and the weather was distinctly unkind.
to attempt to recount his adventures would be to fill a volume with a description of bad roads, hailstorms, punctures, and repeated disappointments. nevertheless he eventually got on the [pg 292]track of that peacock feather, and followed it up as surely as a bloodhound on the scent of his prey, though more than once he had to return on his own trail.
how tommy kept on the scent at all was a marvel. it was by sheer perseverance, by following up every smallest clue, by letting no possible chance go untried. he was indefatigable, undoubting, and his chauffeur, hearing the story from tommy’s enthusiastic lips, warmed to the work, and played his part with a zest equal only to tommy’s own.
it was the third week of the search that they entered congleton, which was, as we know, to cry “hot!” as the children cry it in the game of hunt the thimble. but tommy did not know it; and here, in spite of all inquiries, the clue appeared lost, vanished.
the wind was blowing, a deluge half of rain, half of sleet, descending. it being then seven o’clock or thereabouts, they decided after some parley to drive to a hotel, put up for the night, and renew the search in the morning. some slight disarrangement in the internal organs of the car further decided them in the plan, though the chauffeur averred that ten o’clock the following morning should see them again en route. slightly depressed, however, tommy retired to bed.
he was up betimes. in the night the weather had changed, and snow some inches deep lay upon the ground. before daylight he was downstairs and in the street. there he met a sleepy milk-boy delivering milk. tommy entered into casual conversation with him, questioning carelessly, unconcernedly, as his method was. and then suddenly the clue was once more in his hand.
of course the boy had seen him—a man with a peacock feather in his hat and a dog at his heels—a queer dog, a bit of a mongrel, so the youngster announced. now a dog of no kind had been in the category, but the peacock feather was assuredly unmistakable. where, then, had the boy seen him? the previous evening, it appeared, walking towards the cloud.
tommy consulted his watch. it was now, so he discovered, about a quarter after seven. the car by arrangement did not make its appearance till ten. tommy demurred within his soul, cogitated as to possibilities. then with the thought of further clues in his mind he started off a-foot towards the mountain. presently the town lay well behind him, a wide road before him.
the crisp frosty air was exhilarating, the chance of success spurred him on. he passed a few houses. at the door of one a woman was emptying a pail of dirty water. tommy stopped a moment to inquire. luck, good fortune, was in his favour. a man such as he had described had passed up the road the previous evening, so the woman confidently averred. hope beat high in tommy’s heart. never before had he been so close on the track. it had been always three or four days old at the least.
now the road became desolate of houses, a smooth expanse of unbroken snow lying between stone walls. after a while the road turned a bit to the left, and here there was a largish house—a farmhouse, he judged—lying among trees. he passed it, the road still bearing to the left. tommy plodded on. the sun was coming up in the east, a glowing ball of fire.
and then suddenly he saw a hut lying back from the road across a bit of moorland. in the [pg 295]doorway a tall man was standing, a peacock feather in his hat, a white mongrel dog beside him.
tommy’s heart gave a sudden exultant leap. he turned sharply towards the hut.
