Flixton caught sight of Vaughan at the same moment, and “Here’s your man, Sir Robert,” he cried with a little malice in his tone. “Here, Vaughan,” he continued, “Here’s Sir Robert Vermuyden! He’s looking for you. He wants to know——” Sir Robert stopped him. “I will speak for myself, Mr. Flixton, if you please,” he said with the dignity which seldom deserted him. “Mr. Vaughan,” he continued, with a piercing glance, “where is my daughter?” Vaughan returned his look, frowning. Since the parting in Miss Sibson’s parlour, the remembrance of which still set his blood in a flame, Sir Robert and he had not met. Now, in the wet gloom of College Green, under a rare gaslamp, with turmoil about them, and the murmur of fresh trouble drawing near through the streets, Sir Robert asked him for his daughter! He could have laughed. As it was, “I know nothing, sir, of your daughter,” he replied, in a tone between contempt and anger. “But,” Sir Robert retorted, “you travelled with her, from London!” “How do you know that I did?” “The servants, sir, have told me that you did.” “Then they must also have told you,” Vaughan rejoined keenly, “that I did not take the liberty of speaking to Miss Vermuyden. And that I left the coach at Chippenham. That being so, I can only refer you,” he continued with a sneer, raising his hat and preparing to move on, “to Mr. Flixton, who went with her the rest of the way to Bristol.” He turned away. But he had not taken two paces before Sir Robert touched his shoulder, and with that habit of command which few questioned. “Wait, sir,” he said, “Wait, if you please. You do not escape me so easily. You will attend to me one moment, if you please. Mr. Flixton accompanied Miss Vermuyden, as did her man and maid, to Miss Sibson’s house. She gave that address to Lady Worcester, in whose care she was; and I sought her there this afternoon. But she is not there.” Sir Robert continued, striving to read Vaughan’s face. “The house is empty. So is the house on either side. I can make no one hear.” “And you come to me for news of her?” Vaughan asked in the tone he had used throughout. He was very sore. “I do.” “You do not think that I am the last person of whom you should ask tidings of your daughter?” “She came here,” Sir Robert answered sternly, “to see Lady Sybil.” Vaughan stared. The answer seemed to be irrelevant. Then he understood. “Oh,” he said, “I see. You are still under the impression that your wife and I are in a conspiracy to delude you? Your daughter also? You think that she is in the plot? And that she gave the schoolmistress’s address to deceive you?”