“Now.”
“Where are you going to do it?”
“The Milmarsh residence, it appears to me,” replied Nick.
“Milmarsh, did you say?” asked the girl. “Do you suppose he has gone there?”
“It seems probable.”
“So it does,” assented Bessie Silvius. “Oh, Mr. Carter! Perhaps he is quite well—recovered his memory and everything! Well, if he has, that is all I want to know. It is all I have a right to know. We’ll go now, my father and I. You won’t mind my coming again—to-morrow, or the next day—to hear how he is, will you?”
The pitiful appeal in her tones would have touched a much harder heart than the detective’s. He walked close to her and took one of her hands in his.
“Miss Silvius, I hope you will not have to wait until to-morrow to hear how Mr.—Mr. Gordon is. I was about to ask if you would go with us to Milmarsh.”
“Milmarsh?”
“That is the name of the little place where the residence of the Milmarshes is up on the hill. There is not much else there besides the Old Pike Inn and a cluster of small stores to supply the country homes around. We shall take a train in three-quarters of an hour.”