“I have had a similar one from Dresden,” he replied. “She is not there and wrote last nearly a month ago.”
“Is there any clue whatever in the letter she left behind for you?” suggested Ralph, with a strong desire to see it. Sir Matthew took from his breast-pocket a methodically arranged packet, and drew out Evereld’s note.
“I can find no clue in it,” he said, “perhaps you may be able to do so.”
Ralph eagerly read the letter. There was not the slightest hint as to the direction Evereld had taken, but something in the quiet assurance, the guarded, dignified tone of the short note brought him comfort. It revealed a side of his old play-fellow’s character which had hitherto lain dormant.
“Well,” said Sir Matthew sharply. “You look relieved. What do you make of it? Where do you think she has gone?”
“I have no idea,” said Ralph. “The letter tells nothing. Still she wouldn’t have written so calmly and confidently if her plans had not been well thought out. Evereld is not impulsive. Perhaps she had met friends while you were travelling and has gone to them.”
“No, I had a telegram in London from Bruce Wylie who went over to Champéry on purpose to interview a school friend she had met. She had heard nothing whatever about her. I shall have to set a private detective to work.”
Ralph flushed.
“You would surely not do that?” he said quickly.
“Why not? I must find her. And I intend to bring her back to my house.”