Mr. Ravenor stretched out his hand to the bell and rang it violently. We sat in silence, dreading almost to look at one another until it was answered.
“Go to Mr. Marx’s room and bid him come here at once,” Mr. Ravenor commanded.
The man bowed and withdrew. When he reappeared he carried in his hand a letter.
“Mr. Marx left this on his desk for you, sir,” he said.
“Left it! Where is he? Is he not in the Castle?” questioned Mr. Ravenor sharply.
“No, sir. He had a dog cart about half-past four to catch the London express at Mellborough.”
Mr. Ravenor tore open the note and then threw it across to me. There were only a few words:
“Dear Mr. Ravenor,—Kindly excuse me for a day or two. Important business of a private nature calls me hurriedly to London. If you are writing me, my address will be at the Hotel Metropole. M.”
There was a silence between us. Then I looked into Mr. Ravenor’s colourless face.
“We must find that lunatic,” I whispered.