“Toft had left Mr. Audley about eleven,” Mrs. Toft explained. “The Master had been a bit put out, and that kept him. But he’d settled down, and when Toft left him he was much as usual. It could not have been before eleven,” Mrs. Toft continued, rubbing her nose, “for I heard the kitchen clock strike eleven, and I was asleep when Toft came in. The next I remember was finding Toft had got out of bed. ‘What is it?’ says I. He didn’t answer, and I roused up and was going to get a light. But he told me not to make a noise, he’d been woke by hearing a door slam, and thought that some one had crossed the court. He was at the window then, looking out, but we heard nothing, and after a while Toft came back to bed.”
“What time was that?”
“I couldn’t say, Miss, and I don’t suppose Toft could. It was dark and before six, because when I woke again it was on six. But God knows it was a thousand pities we didn’t search then, for it’s on my mind that it was the poor Master. And if we’d known, Toft would have stopped him.”
“Well?” Mary said gravely. “And when did you miss him?”
“Most mornings Etruria’d let me into the house. But this morning she found the door unlocked; howsomever she thought nothing of it, for Toft has a key as well, and since the Master’s illness and him coming and going at all hours, he has not always locked the door; so she made no remark. A bit before eight Toft came down—I didn’t see him but I heard him—and at eight he took up the Master’s cup of tea. Toft makes it in the pantry and takes it up.”
Mrs. Toft paused heavily—not without enjoyment.
“Yes,” Mary said anxiously, “and then?”
“I suppose it was five minutes after, he came out to me—I was in the kitchen getting our breakfast—and he was shaking all over. I don’t know that I ever saw a man more upset. ‘He’s gone!’ he said. ‘Law, Toft,’ I said. ‘What’s the matter? Who’s gone?’ ‘The Master!’ he said. ‘Fiddlesticks!’ says I. ‘Where should he go?’ And with that I went into the house and up to the Master’s room. When I saw it was empty you could have knocked me down with a feather! I looked round a bit, and then I went up to Mr. Basset’s room that’s over, and down again to the library, and so forth. By that time Toft was there, gawpin about. ‘He’s gone!’ he kept saying. I don’t know as I ever saw Toft truly upset before.”
“And what then?” Mary asked. Twice she had looked through the door, but to no purpose.
“Well,” I said, “if he’s not here he can’t be far! Don’t twitter, man, but think! It’s my belief he’s away sleepwalking or what not, to the place you found him before. On that I gave Toft some brandy and he went off.”