The Mystery of Crocksands by Fred M. White

It was only Ellen's business training and the restraint she had learnt to put upon herself during the two years she had been in Melrose's office that enabled her to go about her work as if nothing had happened. But she was shaken to her soul with the revelations of the past few days, and gradually she was coming to a certain determination. She seemed to feel by a sort of instinct that somewhere or another in the world the document that meant so much to her still existed, and if it did she was not going to rest until she found it. It seemed almost incredible to her that her father would have neglected to sign a document that meant so much to his only child, especially when he knew the reputation of the man who would become head of the family if anything happened to himself. Therefore somewhere or another in some forgotten place that deed existed.

Still, the work had to go on, and for the moment, at any rate, Ellen was compelled to put the great problem out of her mind. She was unfeignedly glad when the Saturday morning arrived, and was looking forward to a quiet afternoon after the office had closed. She would lunch in the City at the usual place, and then walk as far as Waterloo Station and go by train to Hampton Court. She could stroll along the river's bank in the sunshine and have tea at a little place she knew of, and get back to Dalston in the cool of the evening. It would be good to be away by herself and get her disturbed thoughts into something like order. And yet when she was accosted inside the restaurant by Rollo Bly she found herself almost unusually glad to see him.