“Oh, Usk, how terrible! If he could only speak! But the bruises?”
“I have a theory which may account for them. Do you remember what the landlord said about this river flowing underground from Bagnanera, fifteen or sixteen miles away? Well, suppose the poor fellow was thrown into the water there, whether dead or alive, in the hope that he would sink and never be heard of again, but that the river carried him all the way to this place? The bruises would be easily accounted for then, you know.”
“Isn’t it horrible? Oh, Nym, do you mean—you can’t mean that they did that to the dear Count too, and that he has not been found, and we shall never know? What are you going to do?”
“I think of going over to Bagnanera. We never dreamed of extending the search in that direction, it seemed so entirely out of the way. I only wish I could get hold of Hicks to come too.”
“The camera he was to send us came to-day.”
“That won’t tell us where he is, though. We must only hope that the thought of the underground river will strike him when he hears about this. There are not many things that don’t occur to him.”
Very shortly it was evident that Mr Hicks had a correspondent in Novigrad who kept him in touch with the course of affairs, and that the idea which occurred to Usk had struck him also, for the next day a telegram was brought out from the town which read—
“Hope camera arrived safe. Bagnanera good place for views. Am going there to-morrow; will coach Lady Usk if you come. Bring films.”
“We must make a day of it,” said Usk.
“And you’ll have to take me,” said Helene.