Where, then, was Guy Rathbone? Was he alive? was he dead? Nobody was prepared to say.
The one strange circumstance which seemed to throw a tiny light upon the mystery was this. For a fortnight or so before his disappearance, Mr. Rathbone, usually in the habit of going a good deal to dinner-parties, dances, and so on, had declined all invitations. Many people who had invited him to this or that function now came forward and announced that their invitations had been declined, as Mr. Rathbone had said he was going out of town for a short time. Inquiries in the Temple showed that Mr. Rathbone had not been out of town at all. He had remained almost entirely in his chambers, and even his appearances in the Law Courts, where he had only done three days' actual work for the last week or two, had been less frequent than usual.
Rathbone was in the habit of being attended to by a woman who came early in the morning, lit the fires, prepared his bath and breakfast, and then swept the chambers. The woman generally arrived at seven and left about twelve, returning again for an hour about six in the evening, to make up the fires and do anything else that might be required. Rathbone either lunched in the Inner Temple or in one of the Fleet Street restaurants. If not dining out, he generally took this meal at the Oxford and Cambridge Club, of which he was a member.
The waiters in the Temple Hall said that his attendance had not been quite as regular as usual in the fortnight or so before his disappearance, but they certainly thought that they had seen him every other day or so.
The woman who looked after the chambers stated that Mr. Rathbone had remained indoors a good deal more than usual, seeming to be engrossed in law books. On several occasions when she had arrived at six in the evening, she had found that he did not require his dress clothes put out, and had asked her to bring him in some sandwiches or some light food of that description, as he intended to work alone far into the night.
These slight divergencies from his ordinary habits were, every one agreed, significant of something. But what that something was nobody knew, and the wild suggestions made on all sides seemed to provide no real solution.
The last occasion upon which Mr. Rathbone had been seen by any one able to report the occurrence was in the early morning at breakfast. Mrs. Baker, the bed-maker, had cooked the breakfast as usual, and had asked her master if he would excuse her attendance in the evening, as she had a couple of orders for the Adelphi, in return for displaying the bills of the theatre in a little shop she kept with her daughter in a street off Holborn.
"My master seemed in his usual spirits," the good woman had said in an interview with a member of the staff of the Westminster Gazette. "He gave me permission at once to go to the theatre, and said that he himself would be out that evening. There was no trace of anything unusual in his manner. When I arrived in the morning and opened the outer doors of the chambers with my pass key, I went into the study and the sitting-room as usual, lit two fires, turned on the bath, made a cup of tea and took it to Mr. Rathbone's bedroom. There was no answer to my knock, and when I opened the door and went in, thinking he was over-sleeping himself, I found the bed had not been slept in. This was very unusual in a gentleman of Mr. Rathbone's regular habits. It would not have attracted my notice in the case of some gentlemen I have been in the habit of doing for, who were accustomed to stay out without any intimation of the fact. But I did think it strange in the case of Mr. Guy, always a very steady gentleman. I waited about till nearly one o'clock, and he did not return. I then went home, and did not go to the chambers again till six o'clock, when I found things in the same state as before, the fires burnt out, and no trace of anybody having entered. As I left the Inn I asked the porter if he had seen Mr. Rathbone, and he replied that he had not returned. The same thing happened for the next two days, when the porter communicated with the authorities of the Inn, and an inspector of police was called in."
The interview disclosed few more facts of importance, save only one. This was that Mr. Rathbone had dressed for dinner on the night of his disappearance. His evening clothes were not in the wardrobe, and the morning suit he had been wearing at breakfast was neatly folded and placed upon a chest of drawers ready for Mrs. Baker to brush it.
This seemed to show indubitably that the barrister had no thought of being absent from home that night.