“Was Mistress Grena wont to visit your daughter?”
“By times, Father: not very often.”
As all his neighbours must be aware of Mistress Grena’s visit, Roger thought it the wisest plan to be perfectly frank on that point.
“Ask at Christabel if she wist whether Osmund came withal.”
Roger made the inquiry, and returned with the information that Christabel did not know. From her couch she could only see the horse’s ears, and had not noticed who was with it.
“’Tis strange matter,” said the priest severely, “that a gentleman of means and station, with his sister, and daughter, and servant, could disappear thus utterly, and none know thereof!”
“It is, Father, in very deed,” replied Roger sympathisingly.
“I pray you, Hall, make full inquiry at the works, and give me to wit if aught be known thereof. Remember, you are somewhat under a cloud from your near kinship to Alice Benden, and diligence in this matter may do you a good turn with holy Church.”
“Sir, I will make inquiry at the works,” was the answer, which did not convey Roger’s intention to make no use of the inquiries that could damage his master, nor his settled conviction that no information was to be had.
The only person at all likely to know more than himself was the cashier at the works, since he lived between Cranbrook and Primrose Croft, and Roger carefully timed his inquiries so as not to include him. The result was what he expected—no one could tell him anything. He quickly and diligently communicated this interesting fact to the priest’s servant, his master not being at home; and Mr Bastian was more puzzled than ever. The nine days’ wonder gradually died down. On the Thursday evening Mr Justice Roberts came home, and was met by the news of his brother’s disappearance, with his family. He was so astonished that he sat open-mouthed, knife and spoon in hand, while his favourite dish of broiled fowl grew cold, until he had heard all that Martha had to tell him. Supper was no sooner over, than off he set to Primrose Croft.