ng on.
What, of course, drove me into an agony of apprehension was Murray's use
of that one word "unaccountably." Why should Maisie be "unaccountably"
missing? What had happened to take her out of her father's house?--where
had she gone, that no trace of her could be got?--what had led to this
utterly startling development?--what--

But it was no use speculating on these things--the need was for action.
And I had seized on the first porter I met, and was asking him for the
next train to Berwick, when Mr. Gavin Smeaton gripped my arm.

"There's a train in ten minutes, Moneylaws," said he quietly. "Come away
to it--I'll go with you--we're all going. Mr. Lindsey thinks we'll do as
much there as here, now."

Looking round I saw the two solicitors hurrying in our direction, Mr.
Lindsey carrying Murray's telegram in his hand. He pulled me aside as we
all walked towards the train.

"What do you make of this, Hugh?" he asked. "Can you account for any
reason why the girl should be missing?"

"I haven't an idea," said I. "But if it's anything to do with all the
rest of this business, Mr. Lindsey, let somebody look out! I'll have no
mercy on anybody that's interfered with her--and what else can it be? I
wish I'd never left the town!"

"Aye, well, we'll soon be back in it," he said, consolingly. "And we'll
hope to find better news. I wish Murray had said more; it's a mistake to
frighten folk in that way--he's said just too much and just too little."

It was a fast express that we caught for Berwick, and we were not long in
covering the distance, but it seemed like ages to me, and the rest of
them failed to get a word out of my lips during the whole time. And my
heart was in my mouth when, as we ran into Berwick station, I saw
Chisholm and Andrew Dunlop on the platform waiting us. Folk that have
had bad news are always in a state of fearing to receive worse, and I
dreaded what they might have come to the station to tell us. And Mr.
Lindsey saw how I was feeling, and he was on the two of them with an
instant question.

"Do you know any more about the girl than was in Murray's wire?" he
demanded. "If so, what? The lad here's mad for news!"

Chisholm shook his head, and Andrew Dunlop looked searchingly at me.

"We know nothing more," he answered. "You don't know anything yourself,
my lad?" he went on, staring at me still harder.

"I, Mr. Dunlop!" I exclaimed. "What do you think, now, asking me a
question like yon! What sho