“Yes, May—well, sir, the truth is that May and my new wife didn’t get on over-well together, and we—my wife and I—have been away from home for a couple of days, and when we went to seek May this morning we found she was not in the house. Then I went to the station—I have just been there—and Johnson, the station-master, he says May left last evening by the quarter-to-six train for London, and that’s every word we know about her.”
“And she left no letter? Told no one she was going?”
“Yes, she left a letter for me, to say she was going, and that was all; not a word where she was going to.”
“This is very distressing. Did she say nothing to her brothers?”
“Not a word—and squire, there is something I wanted to ask you—” and then Mr. Churchill hesitated.
“Pray ask me, Mr. Churchill, and if there is anything I can do for you, you may depend on me.”
“Well, sir, you see May and your nephew, Mr. John Temple, were a good bit together about that unfortunate girl’s death at Fern Dene, and I’ve been wondering if he could tell us anything? No offense, you know, squire, only sometimes girls tell their troubles or fancied troubles to other young people, and I thought perhaps she might have said something to Mr. John Temple—that is, if he is at the Hall.”
“He is certainly at the Hall,” replied the squire, gravely. “He returned last Saturday, and is now in the breakfast-room. Would you like to see him?”
“If I might make so bold.”
Mr. Temple rose and rang the bell, and when the footman answered it he said quietly: