“Why shouldn’t I? He certainly sent for those men to go away with him on a job of some kind; and, as I just said, one of our men--it was Tom Bidwell--overheard Jackman talkin’ about Burton. Yes, I think he’s there.” After a little reflection Percy told to his friend the story of the wonderful disappearance of Lady Cordelia Chester and her maid. Rodney was deeply affected, but he did not believe Tryon had anything to do with it. If such a thing had been in the wind he was sure he would have detected some signs of it. But one thing the old man promised. He would return to the brig, and he would not rest until he had found out all that could possibly be discovered in that quarter. “And, my dear boy,” he added, earnestly, “nothing shall prevent me from giving you information as soon as it comes to me. I will either come myself or send Guy to-morrow morning at all events, whether I have news or not.” It was not very satisfying; but the interview, and the bringing it about, had used up two pain-laden hours, besides giving him something more to think of and look forward to. He had taken to himself a hope that old Rodney would bring him something of importance in the morning, if not before. It was very slight--very slight indeed; but a ray of light came with it, nevertheless. Leaving the shore of the cove, our hero made his way to the inn at the village, where he was to have a new direction given to his thoughts--or, rather, an aforetime thought was to be revived. “Ah, Maitland! the very man I’ve been wishing for,” the host exclaimed, as our hero made his appearance in the tap-room. “That horse has come. Just step around this way with me, and you shall have a look at him.” Percy knew this to be simply a blind for closing the eyes of the few loungers in the room. He followed the good man out through the bar into a little parlor beyond, where with the doors closed they were safe from intrusion. “Maitland, you asked me, this noon, about Lord Oakleigh; and I told you I knew nothing about him. Well, I can tell ye more now. Dan Corbett came in half an hour ago and told me he met the young lord over at Saybrook, at Seth Arnold’s inn, last evening.” “He knows it was Lord Oakleigh?” interrogated the youth, much excited. “Bless ye, yes! He knows Lord Oakleigh as well as he knows you or me.” “Last evening?” “Yes.” “At what time?” “It must have been somewhere between eight and ten o’clock.” “Does he know what he was doing there, or anything about what he intended to do?” “He could make out only this: His lordship was in a great flurry, with his right arm in a sling, Dan said; and seemed to be waiting for somebody--Dan thought his servant--who was to take him away from there; but where he was bound or what he was about, I couldn’t find out.”