“I am not very clear about it myself,” she replied, “but from what I am told, I gather that it is a sort of legal proceeding that takes place when a person disappears permanently and there is uncertainty as to whether he or she is dead or alive. An application is made to the court for permission to presume that the person is dead; and if the court gives the permission, the person is then legally presumed to be dead and his will can be administered and his affairs wound up. That is an instance of the kind of case that Dr. Thorndyke undertakes. He must have had quite a lot of experience of persons who have disappeared, and for that reason Mr. Rodney advised me to consult him about Dan.”
“Do you mean with a view to presuming his death?” asked Varney, inwardly anathematizing Dan for thus making his inevitable appearance in the conversation, but keenly interested nevertheless.
“No,” replied Margaret. “I consulted him quite soon after Dan went away. What I asked him to do was to find out, if possible, what had become of him, and if he could discover his whereabouts, to get into touch with him.”
“Well,” said Varney, “he doesn’t seem to have had much luck up to the present. He hasn’t been able to trace Dan, has he?”
“No,” she replied; “at least, I suppose not. But we know where the lost sheep is now. Had you heard about the letter?”
“The letter?”
“Yes. From Dan. He wrote to Mr. Penfield a few days ago.”
“Did he though?” said Varney with well-simulated surprise. “From somewhere abroad, I suppose?”
“No. The post-mark was Woodbridge—there was no address;” and here Margaret briefly explained the circumstances.
“It sounds rather as if he were afloat,” said Varney. “That is an ideal coast for lurking about in a smallish yacht. There is endless cover in the rivers and the creeks off the Colne, the Roach, the Crouch and the Blackwater. But it looks as if he had made more preparations for the flitting than we thought at the time. He hasn’t written to you?”