Part 1 (2/2)

”I'll make inquiry as to that, sir,” responded Kitteridge, ”but I've heard nothing of the sort so far, and all the servants are aware by now that Mr. Herapath isn't in the house. If anybody had heard anything----”

Before the butler could say more the study door opened and a girl came into the room. At sight of her Selwood spoke hurriedly to Kitteridge.

”Have you told Miss Wynne?” he whispered. ”Does she know?”

”She may have heard from her maid, sir,” replied Kitteridge in low tones. ”Of course they're all talking of it. I was going to ask to see Miss Wynne as soon as she was dressed.”

By that time the girl had advanced towards the three men, and Selwood stepped forward to meet her. He knew her as Herapath's niece, the daughter of a dead sister of whom Herapath had been very fond; he knew, too, that Herapath had brought her up from infancy and treated her as a daughter. She was at this time a young woman of twenty-one or two, a pretty, eminently likeable young woman, with signs of character and resource in eyes and lips, and Selwood had seen enough of her to feel sure that in any disturbing event she would keep her head. She spoke calmly enough as the secretary met her.

”What's all this, Mr. Selwood?” she asked. ”I understand my uncle is not in the house. But there's nothing alarming in that, Kitteridge, is there? Mr. Herapath may have gone away during the night, you know.”

”Kitteridge thinks that highly improbable,” replied Selwood. ”He says that Mr. Herapath had made no preparation for a sudden journey, has taken no travelling coat or rug, or luggage of any sort.”

”Did he come in from the House?” she asked. ”Perhaps not?”

Kitteridge pointed to the supper-tray and then indicated the coachman.

”He came in as usual, miss,” he replied. ”Or rather an hour later than usual. Mountain brought him home at one o'clock, and he saw him let himself in with his latch-key.”

Peggie Wynne turned to the coachman.

”You're sure that he entered the house?” she asked.

”As sure as I could be, miss,” replied Mountain. ”He was putting his key in the door when I drove off.”

”He must have come in,” said Kitteridge, pointing to the tray. ”He had something after he got in.”

”Well, go and tell the servants not to talk, Kitteridge,” said Peggie.

”My uncle, no doubt, had reasons for going out again. Have you said anything to Mr. Tertius?”

”Mr. Tertius isn't down yet, miss,” answered the butler.

He left the room, followed by the coachman, and Peggie turned to Selwood. ”What do you think?” she asked, with a slight show of anxiety.

”You don't know of any reason for this, do you?”

”None,” replied Selwood. ”And as to what I think, I don't know sufficient about Mr. Herapath's habits to be able to judge.”

”He never did anything like this before,” she remarked. ”I know that he sometimes gets up in the middle of the night and comes down here, but I never knew him to go out. If he'd been setting off on a sudden journey he'd surely have let me know. Perhaps----”

She paused suddenly, seeing Selwood lift his eyes from the papers strewn about the desk to the door. She, too, turned in the same direction.

A man had come quietly into the room--a slightly-built, little man, grey-bearded, delicate-looking, whose eyes were obscured by a pair of dark-tinted spectacles. He moved gently and with an air of habitual shyness, and Selwood, who was naturally observant, saw that his lips and his hands were trembling slightly as he came towards them.

”Mr. Tertius,” said Peggie, ”do you know anything about Uncle Jacob? He came in during the night--one o'clock--and now he's disappeared. Did he say anything to you about going away early this morning?”

Mr. Tertius shook his head.

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