Then he began to think that it was not quite like Violet's writing. Presently hope, energy, action burst into blossom afresh within him. Suppose, he thought, that the whole business was somehow a trick of that man? Suppose that she was in London all the time? He wrote to her at Porchester Gardens that day, but received no answer. Van Hupfeldt had given orders that all letters for the Mordaunts should be sent to him, nor did he send on David's letter to Violet, for he knew David's writing. Moreover, he had warned the proprietors at Porchester Gardens that a certain man, who was likely to make himself troublesome to the Mordaunts, might present himself there in the hope of learning their address in the country, in view of which they had better give the address to no one. Now, at David's only meeting with Violet at the grave, she had mentioned to him her country address, but, having heard it only once and that heedlessly, when his brain was full of new notions, it had so far passed out of his mind in the course of time that all that he could remember of it was that it was in Warwickshire. Nor could any racking of his brains bring back more of it than the name of the county. After some days he betook himself to Porchester Gardens. "Is Mrs. Mordaunt at home?" he asked. "No," was the answer, "she isn't staying here now. She is in the country." That much, then, of the note found on the grave was true. "When did she go?" he asked. "Last Tuesday week," was the answer. The note was true! "I have written Miss Mordaunt a letter," said David, "telling her that I have in my possession something which I know that she would like to have, and have received no answer. I suppose you forward her letters on to her?" "Yes; we send them to a gentleman who forwards them on." "Ah? What gentleman is that?" "A Mr. Van Hupfeldt." "I see. But can you give me Mrs. Mordaunt's address?" "We are not to give it; but any letters will be sent on." "Through Mr. Van Hupfeldt?" "Yes." "But suppose I send you one with a cross on the envelope, would you do me the special favor to send that one on direct, not through Mr. Van Hupfeldt?" "We have instructions as to the Mordaunts' letters," said the landlady, "and, of course, we follow them." "Well, but you seem very inflexible, especially as I tell you--" "Can't help that, sir. We were told that you would be turning up, and I give you the answer which I was directed to give. It is quite useless to come here making any request as to the Mordaunts." David went away discomforted. There remained to him one hope--Dibbin. He ran round to Dibbin's and asked for the address. "I'm afraid I'm hardly authorized to do that," answered the agent, to whom such appeals were matters of every-day business. "Do be reasonable," urged David. "Miss Mordaunt herself gave me her address, only I have let it slip out of my mind."