The answer to this dispatch came promptly, and also by telegraph. It was to this effect:
“Sir John Freise and Mr. Atkins: Wynde Heights is untenanted, save by the housekeeper. Miss Wynde has not been here, nor have Mr. and Mrs. Black.”
On receipt of this astounding message, the young earl posted up to town, as did Sir John Freise and Mr. Atkins. They searched for the missing heiress and her guardians, but their search was futile. Not a trace of her could be found. She had come up to London with her enemies, but no further clue to her could be found. She had completely disappeared, and her fate was shrouded in dark and horrible mystery!
CHAPTER II.
THE PUZZLE OF NEVA’S WHEREABOUTS.
On going up to town with Sir John Freise and Mr. Atkins to engage in the search for Neva Wynde, who had so strangely and mysteriously disappeared, Lord Towyn had left orders with the steward of his marine villa to forward to him in London without delay any and all letters that might arrive to the address of the young earl. And so, while he prosecuted his researches with desperate energy, Lord Towyn half expected by every post some news from his young betrothed.
The three guardians of Neva’s estate were sadly puzzled and thoroughly alarmed, but for Neva’s own sake they kept the mystery to themselves. Mr. Atkins urged that no detectives be taken into their confidence, and that no newspapers be permitted to publish the strange story.
“We shall do as well as any detectives,” said the attorney, “and if there is any game afoot, we will not set the villains who are at work in it upon their guard.”
“Villains?” echoed Sir John Freise disapprovingly. “The thing is mysterious, Mr. Atkins, but it is susceptible of explanation. Had it not been for Miss Wynde’s promise to write daily to Lord Towyn, and her failure to comply with that promise, we should have suspected no harm. ‘Villains’ is a strong word to apply to Miss Wynde’s companions. Miss Wynde may have fallen ill on the way to Wynde Heights, or the plan of the tour may have been changed. In fact, one of these alternatives doubtless contains the truth. But ‘villains,’ Mr. Atkins—the word troubles me. To whom do you apply it? Certainly not to the beautiful lady who was the wife of our friend Sir Harold Wynde, and who was so loved and trusted by him that he constituted her the sole personal guardian of his beloved daughter?”
“And who so appreciated her husband’s love and noble qualities,” said Mr. Atkins dryly, “that in one year from his tragic death she was receiving the loving attentions of a Craven Black, and in fifteen months after Sir Harold’s death became the wife of a Craven Black! Bah! I was never deceived in Lady Wynde, not even when Sir Harold brought her home to Hawkhurst. She is a bold, designing, unscrupulous creature, and it is as well that Sir Harold died before she broke his heart.”
“Mr. Atkins, your harsh judgment amazes me—”