Walter went off on his errand cheerfully enough. The moments passed, but he did not return, and the feeling of anxiety on Ravenspur’s part deepened. Finally, Walter returned, with a face as anxious as Lord Ravenspur’s own. He caught the latter’s arm almost fiercely.
“I begin to think you are right,” he whispered. “I cannot find Vera anywhere. One of her girl friends tells me that she last saw her quite alone going off in the direction of the pathway behind the shrubbery. That was half an hour ago. What she could be doing there I haven’t the remotest idea.”
A smothered groan escaped Ravenspur’s lips.
“I had half expected this,” he muttered. “Something of the kind was bound to happen. She has been lured away, or she has been kidnapped. When you come to think of it, it is quite an easy matter in grounds as large as these. It seems quite hopeless to try and fight against these scoundrels. Depend upon it, they have found out our plans in some mysterious way, and have taken this step to thwart them at the last moment. But how did they manage, how could they have communicated with Vera? And what extraordinary allurement did they hold out to her to induce her to go off with strangers in this way? Oh, the thing is maddening!”
“I don’t know,” Walter exclaimed. “I only know that we are wasting time, and very precious time at that. Now, let me see, what would be the most likely thing to appeal to the sentiments of a young girl like Vera? I should say something to do with her mother. That, you may depend upon it—a letter from her mother. We can very soon see whether my suspicions are right or not. I’ll go out into the hall at once and interview the footmen.”
A group of idle, lounging footmen were loafing in the hall. Walter went straight to the point.
“Which of you gave Miss Rayne a letter just now?” he demanded. “And who brought it? Come, speak out!”
The strong, determined voice was not without its effect. One of the footmen came forward and murmured that he had taken the letter and delivered it to Vera.
“It was about half an hour ago, sir,” he explained. “No, I don’t know the man who brought it. He looked like a small tradesman, or respectable clerk. All he told me was to give the letter to Miss Rayne and see that she had it at once.”
“And you were to give it to her when she was alone?”
“Well, yes, sir,” the man admitted. “The messenger did say that. You see, there was nothing strange—”
“Oh, of course not,” Walter said impatiently. “You were to give it to Miss Rayne when she was alone, and you had a handsome tip for your pains. Was not that so?”
The man’s face testified to the fact that Walter’s shot had hit the mark, but the latter did not remain there a single moment longer. He had not lost sight of the fact that a cross-examination of a servant would probably have led to a deal of idle gossip, in which Vera’s name would have been mixed up; and besides, the footman was obviously an innocent party, and had told everything that he knew in connection with the letter and its delivery.
“It is just as you feared,” Walter said, when he reached Ravenspur’s side. “A respectably-dressed man came here half an hour ago and left a letter for Vera, which was to be delivered to her when she was alone. The thing was done, and that is how the mischief began. I feel quite sure that I am right, and that that letter came, or purported to come, from Vera’s mother. The poor child would naturally go off, thinking no evil. You may depend upon it that that scoundrel Silva is at the bottom of it all. He cannot strike you in one way, so he has made up his mind to deal the blow in another direction. There is no time to be lost.”
“But how on earth did they find out our plans?” Ravenspur groaned. “All the servants are to be trusted.”
“I’ve got it,” Walter said suddenly. “Don’t you recollect that blind organ-grinder that Vera was so interested in? He was hanging about Park Lane all day. Those sort of people have regular beats, and he has never been seen there before. He saw all that baggage going away, and drew his own conclusions. It would be an easy matter to have the stuff followed to Waterloo Station, and find all about the special train from the porters. But what are we going to do? Are we going to raise an alarm?”
“Not yet,” Ravenspur said hoarsely. “Don’t let us have any scandal as long as we can possibly avoid it. I’ll go out with you and we’ll make another search of the grounds first. We may find some sort of a clue, and if we do we can follow it up without anybody being any the wiser. Lady Ringmar will simply think that we went off without saying goodbye, and there will be an end of the matter as far as she is concerned. Now come along.”
The two slipped out into the grounds again and made a rapid search of the garden. In the shrubbery they found the great hound, Bruno, patiently waiting there. Apparently he seemed to think that his time for punishment was past, for he crept up to Walter’s side and rubbed his great, black muzzle against his knee.
“Here’s an inspiration,” Walter exclaimed. “If Vera went away at all, she must have gone by the back gate. We will put Bruno on the scent, and if—Hallo, what’s this?”
The dainty white cambric, with its fringe of lace, caught Walter’s eye. He withdrew the fragment from under the dog’s collar and held it up to one of the points of electric flame.
“Here is a clue with a vengeance,” he exclaimed. “This is Vera’s handkerchief.
