ldren, and she had no doubt forgotten his very
existence. Still--

He rang the house bell at last and asked for Mrs. Carswell. The
housekeeper came hurrying to him, a look of expectancy on her face.

"Has anything been heard, Mr. Neale?" she asked. "Or found out? Have the
police been told yet?"

"The police know," answered Neale. "And nothing has been heard. Where is
Miss Fosdyke, Mrs. Carswell? I should like to speak to her."

"Gone to the Scarnham Arms, Mr. Neale," replied the housekeeper. "She
wouldn't stay here, though her room was all ready for her. Said she
wouldn't stop two seconds in a house that belonged to men who suspected
her uncle! So she's gone across there to take rooms. Do--do the partners
suspect Mr. Horbury of something, Mr. Neale?"

Neale shook his head and turned away.

"I can't tell you anything, Mrs. Carswell," he answered. "If either Mr.
Chestermarke or Mr. Joseph wish to give you any information, they'll
give it themselves. But I can say this on my own responsibility--if you
know of anything--anything, however small!--that would account for Mr.
Horbury's absence, out with it!"

"But I don't--I know nothing but what I've told," said Mrs. Carswell.
"Literally nothing!"

"Nobody knows anything," remarked Neale. "That's the worst of it.
Well--we shall see."

He went away from the house and crossed the Market-Place to the Scarnham
Arms, an old-world inn which had suffered few alterations during the
last two centuries. And there inside its wide hall, superintending the
removal of various articles of luggage which had just arrived from the
station and in conversation with a much interested landlady, he found
Betty Fosdyke.

"I may be here for weeks, and I shall certainly be here for days," that
young lady was saying. "Put all these things in the bedroom, and I'll
have what I want taken into the sitting-room later. Now, Mrs. Depledge,
about my dinner. I'll have it in my sitting-room, and I'll have it
early. I----"

At this moment Miss Fosdyke became aware of Neale's presence, and that
this eminently good-looking young man was not only smiling at her, but
was holding out a hand which he evidently expected to be taken.

"You've forgotten me!" said Neale.

Miss Fosdyke's cheeks flushed a little and she held out her hand.

"Is it--is it Wallie Neale?" she asked. "But--I saw you in the
bank-house--and you didn't speak to me!"

"You didn't speak to me," retorted Neale, smiling.

"Didn't kn