Merton saw that the doctor wished to be with him in private, and the two walked down into the town, where they got a comfortable room, the doctor ordering boiling water and the other elements of what he called ‘a cheerer.’ When the cups which cheer had been brought, and the men were alone, the doctor said:
‘It is as you suppose, Mr. Merton, but worse.’
‘Great heaven, no accident has happened to Logan?’ asked Merton.
‘No, sir, and he would have met you himself at Berwick, but he is engaged in making inquiries and taking precautions at Kirkburn.’
‘You do not mean that there is any reason to suspect foul play? The marquis, I know, was in bad health. You do not suspect—murder?’
‘No, sir, but—the marquis is gone.’
‘I know he is gone, your telegram and what I observed of his health led me to fear the worst.’
‘But his body is gone—vanished.’
‘You suppose that it has been stolen (you know the American and other cases of the same kind) for the purpose of extracting money from the heir?’
‘That is the obvious view, whoever the heir may be. So far, no will has been found,’ the doctor added some sugar to his cheerer, and some whisky to correct the sugar. ‘The neighbourhood is very much excited. Mr. Logan has telegraphed to London for detectives.’