"Yes," I replied, "there is no harm in it."
I called my wife, and bade her go to Mr. Melladew's house, and contrive to see Mary Melladew privately, and give her the young man's message. During my wife's absence George Carton and I exchanged but few words. He sat for the chief part of the time with his head resting on his hand, and I was busy thinking whether the information he had imparted to me would be likely to afford a clue to the discovery of the murderer. My wife returned with consternation depicted on her face.
"Mary is not at home," she said.
"Where has she gone?" cried George Carton, starting up.
To my astonishment my wife replied, "They are in the greatest trouble about her. She has not been home all the day."
"Have they not seen anything of her?" I asked, also rising to my feet.
"No," said my wife, "they have seen nothing whatever of her."
"Is it possible," I exclaimed, "that she can be still at her place of business, in ignorance of what has taken place?"
"No," cried George Carton, in great excitement, "she is not there. I have been to inquire. She went out last night, and never returned. Great God! What can be the meaning of it?"
I strove in vain to calm him. He paced the room with flashing eyes, muttering to himself words so wild that I could not arrive at the least understanding of them.