Nobody in the
library! The map of Modern Italy stared at ME; and I stared at the map
of Modern Italy.
I tried the drawing-room. There was his handkerchief on the floor, to
prove that he had drifted in. And there was the empty room to prove that
he had drifted out again.
I tried the dining-room, and discovered Samuel with a biscuit and a
glass of sherry, silently investigating the empty air. A minute since,
Mr. Franklin had rung furiously for a little light refreshment. On its
production, in a violent hurry, by Samuel, Mr. Franklin had vanished
before the bell downstairs had quite done ringing with the pull he had
given to it.
I tried the morning-room, and found him at last. There he was at the
window, drawing hieroglyphics with his finger in the damp on the glass.
"Your sherry is waiting for you, sir," I said to him. I might as well
have addressed myself to one of the four walls of the room; he was down
in the bottomless deep of his own meditations, past all pulling up.
"How do YOU explain Rachel's conduct, Betteredge?" was the only answer
I received. Not being ready with the needful reply, I produced ROBINSON
CRUSOE, in which I am firmly persuaded some explanation might have been
found, if we had only searched long enough for it.
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