his tightly-compressed lips.

"He did come home, sir," he said. "I drove him home--as usual. I saw him
let himself into the house. One o'clock sharp, that was. Oh, yes, he
came home!"

"He came home," repeated Kitteridge. "Look here, sir." He led the way
into the study and pointed to a small table set by the side of
Herapath's big business desk. "You see that tray, Mr. Selwood? That's
always left out, there, on that table, for Mr. Herapath every night. A
small decanter of whiskey, a syphon, a few sandwiches, a dry biscuit or
two. Well, there you are, sir--he's had a drink out of that glass, he's
had a mouthful or so of sandwiches. Oh, yes, he came home, but he's not
at home now! Charlesworth--the valet, you know, sir--always goes into
Mr. Herapath's room at a quarter past seven every morning; when he went
in just now he found that Mr. Herapath wasn't there, and the bed hadn't
been slept in. So--that's where things stand."

Selwood looked round the room. The curtains had not yet been drawn
aside, and the electric light cast a cold glare on the various
well-known objects and fittings. He glanced at the evidences of the
supper tray; then at the blotting-pad on Herapath's desk; there he might
have left a note for his butler or his secretary. But there was no note
to be seen.

"Still, I don't see that there's anything to be alarmed about,
Kitteridge," he said. "Mr. Herapath may have wanted to go somewhere by a
very early morning train----"

"No, sir, excuse me, that won't do," broke in the butler. "I thought of
that myself. But if he'd wanted to catch a night train, he'd have taken
a travelling coat, and a rug, and a bag of some sort--he's taken nothing
at all in that way. Besides, I've been in this house seven years, and I
know his habits. If he'd wanted to go away by one of the very early
morning trains he'd have kept me and Charlesworth up, making ready for
him. No, sir! He came home, and went out again--must have done.
And--it's uncommonly queer. Seven years I've been here, as I say, and he
never did such a thing before."

Selwood turned to the coachman.

"You brought Mr. Herapath home at one o'clock?" he said. "Alone?"

"He was alone, sir," replied the coachman, who had been staring around him
as if to seek some solution of the mystery. "I'll tell you all that
happened--I was just beginning to tell Mr. Kitteridge here when you come
in. I fetched Mr. Herapath from the House of Commons last night at a
quarter pa