Dead! Miss Earnshaw! Then what had become of Doris? "Are you quite sure that a young lady did not come here in the early hours of this morning?" asked Bernard, slipping a coin into the youth's hand.
The touch of silver seemed to quicken the latter's memory. "I was in bed, sir. But if you wait here I will ask Mr. Giles, the butler," he said, inviting Bernard into the hall and going in search of the information he needed.
Presently he returned with a deferential butler, who said to Bernard:
"There was a young lady came to this house in a hansom, sir, about one o'clock this morning. She wanted Miss Earnshaw, and seemed terribly cut up to find she was dead. She saw Mr. Earnshaw, Miss Earnshaw's distant cousin, who inherits everything. But I think he couldn't do anything for her, sir, for she went away in great trouble."
"Where is Mr. Earnshaw?" demanded Bernard excitedly.
"He went off by an early train to Reigate, where he lives. He won't return until the day of the funeral."
"When will that be?"
"Day after to-morrow."
"Give me his address. I must wire to him!" exclaimed Bernard. "Did you observe whether the lady went away in a cab or walked?"
The butler had not noticed the manner of her departure, nor had any one else in the house. All the inquiries Bernard made--and they were many--resulted in nothing. Doris had vanished as completely as it was possible for any one to vanish in our great and crowded metropolis.