“A man who, beneath his languid indifference, is the soul of honour,” said the Resident; and he led the way to the boat by which Mr Perowne had come across.
The men were lying in the bottom asleep; but they roused up directly as the two gentlemen entered and were rowed to the landing-stage at the foot of Mr Perowne’s garden, where the swift stream was lapping the stones placed to keep it from washing the lawn away.
As they were rowed across Neil Harley found himself looking thoughtfully down into the water time after time, and a curious shuddering sensation came upon him, one which he strove hard to cast off.
He could not, he would not believe it possible, he told himself; but in spite of his efforts, and the mastery he generally had over self, the thought would come.
They found the servants ready with the answer that nothing had been seen of their young mistress, though they had continued searching ever since their master had gone away.
“Shall we look round ourselves?” said Mr Perowne.
“No, if you say the house has been searched.”
“I have been in every room myself.”
“Then let us go on to the doctor’s. We may find Hilton and Chumbley there, and they perhaps can throw some light upon the matter.”
Mr Perowne bowed, and they hurried off to the doctor’s pretty bungalow, a short distance away.