"Because I can't find him at his rooms," retorted Dawkins. "The place is shut up, and apparently deserted; even his servant has gone. What's the mystery?"
"There is no mystery," I said slowly. "Mr. Murray Olivant has gone on a voyage——"
"Yes, yes; on a voyage," corroborated Fanshawe eagerly. "That's true enough."
"He sails to-morrow on the Eaglet, bound for the Mediterranean," I went on. "I am to join him—to sail with him."
"Strange that I've heard nothing about it," muttered Dawkins, looking from one to the other of us. "I think I can guess what has happened, however; our friend has got hold of the girl, and is slipping away quietly with her—eh?"
"I couldn't say," said Fanshawe. "In any case, I wouldn't trouble about it, if I were you; it's not worth while."
"I'm not so sure of that," said Dawkins, with a grin. "Murray Olivant mustn't imagine for a moment that he is going to use me as he likes, and then fling me aside, without so much as a 'Thank you.' I don't believe in this sailing business; I don't believe he's going at all. There's some trick in this."
"There's no trick," exclaimed Fanshawe eagerly. "He sails to-morrow, and Tinman here goes with him."
I confess I was a little surprised at this eager advocacy of my cause on the part of Fanshawe; I could not understand it. I firmly believed that he thought I had killed the man Olivant; but I should have imagined he was the last person to endeavour to shield me. Yet here he was carrying on that trick that had been practised on every one, and assisting me to hide Murray Olivant away. I could not understand it.