d of Malcolm Stratton, wasn't he--I mean, isn't he?"

"Yes, of course."

"Why should he go out, on Stratton's wedding day, instead of stopping to
congratulate him?"

"I don't know. It was odd, but Mr Brettison is eccentric."

"It's more than odd, Percy Guest," said Miss Jerrold, looking very keen
and intent; "the clue lies that way. Mr Brettison must have known
something and quarrelled with Malcolm Stratton, it seems to me."

"You think so?"

"Yes; his conduct suggests it. Out of town? Hasn't he been to his
chambers since?"

"I think not."

"There's your clue then. I've loaded you. Go off."

"And find Mr Brettison?"

"Of course. Then try and get from him the information we want."

"Do we want that information, Miss Jerrold?"

"Of course we do, sir. Malcolm Stratton's actions may be purged from
their grossness, and happiness come after all."

"Heaven grant it may!" cried Guest.

"There, then, you have something sensible to do; better than always
calling here in your speculative way. Go to work at once, and come and
communicate with me."

Guest went off at once, and had himself driven to Benchers' Inn, where
he ascended to Stratton's door, but turned off to Brettison's, where all
was dark and silent.

He knocked, but there was no answer; and, after repeating the knock
several times, he went to Stratton's door, where he had no better
success. Going down, he crossed to the tunnel-like archway, where he
found Mrs Brade, and learned that Mr Brettison had not yet returned
from the country.

"Mr Stratton does not seem to be at home either."

"No, sir. He goes out a deal now, and is very seldom at home. Many
people come to ask for him, and I give them his message--that they are
to write."

"Well, that's reasonable enough if they have not made appointments, Mrs
Brade, so pray don't shake your head like that."

"Certainly not, sir, if you don't wish it, but I can't help thinking
he'd be better not left alone."

"Why?" said Guest impetuously, Mrs Brade tapped her forehead, and Guest
frowned angrily.

"Nonsense, my good woman," he cried; "don't exaggerate, and pray don't
jump at conclusions. Mr Stratton is no more mad than you are."

"That ain't saying much, mister," cried the porter from the next room,
where he was making up for late hours consequent upon sitting up for
occupants of the inn. "My missus is as mad as a hatter."

Mrs Brade darted to the door and closed it with a heavy bang