But no, she would go on to-night."
I took the midnight train for Philadelphia. They would surely not go
farther to-night if Mrs. Sloman seemed such an invalid.
I scanned every hotel-book in vain. I walked the streets of the city,
and all the long Sunday I haunted one or two churches that my memory
suggested to me were among the probabilities for that day. They were
either not in the city or most securely hid.
And all this time there was a letter in the New York post-office
waiting for me. I found it at my room when I went back to it on Monday
noon.
It ran as follows:
"WESTMINSTER HOTEL.
"Very sorry not to see you--Aunt Sloman especially sorry; but
she has set her heart on going to Philadelphia to-night. We
shall stay at a private house, a quiet boarding-house; for
aunt goes to consult Dr. R---- there, and wishes to be very
retired. I shall not give you our address: as you sail so
soon, it would not be worth while to come over. I will write
you on the other side. B.S."
Where's a Philadelphia directory? Where is this Dr. R----? I find him,
sure enough--such a number Walnut street. Time is precious--Monday
noon!
"I'll transfer my berth to the Saturday steamer: that will do as well.
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