"Upon my word," he said, "I don't think you're so very far away from the mark. Henry Dunbar has been rather queer in his ways since that railway smash."
"Just so. I suppose you wouldn't have any objection to my looking about your house, and round the garden and outbuildings? Your friend might hide himself somewhere about your place. When once they take an eccentric turn, there's no knowing where to have 'em."
Major Vernon shrugged his shoulders.
"I don't think Dunbar's likely to have got into my house without my knowledge," he said; "but you are welcome to examine the place from garret to cellar if that's any satisfaction to you."
He rang a bell as he spoke. It was answered by the girl whose face was tied up.
"Ah, Betty, you've got the toothache again, have you? A nice excuse for slinking your work, eh, my girl? That's about the size of your toothache, I expect! Look here now, this gentleman wants to see the house, and you're to show him over it, and over the garden too, if he likes—and be quick about it, for I want my dinner."
The girl curtseyed in an awkward countrified manner, and ushered Mr. Carter into the hall.
"Betty!" roared the master of the house, as the girl reached the foot of the stair with the detective; "Betty, come here!"
She went back to her master, and Mr. Carter heard a whispered conversation, very brief, of which the last sentence only was audible.
That last sentence ran thus: