“But if he had really been murdered, surely his body would have been found by this time?” he observed. “You have, I am well aware, communicated your suspicions to the police, and they have made every inquiry, but without avail. In passing through London this morning I called at Scotland Yard on your behalf and was informed that they had succeeded in tracing the missing man to the Army and Navy Club on the night of his disappearance. He left there at midnight to walk home, but since that moment nothing has been heard of him.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing except the curious fact that on the following morning a check for five thousand five hundred pounds in favour of some mysterious individual, named Charles Collinson, was handed in at the Temple Bar branch of the London and Westminster Bank, endorsed in an illiterate hand by the bearer, and duly cashed. After that all traces are lost. He has disappeared as completely as if the earth had opened and swallowed him.”
“I care nothing for police theories,” Mabel said firmly. “I feel convinced that he has been brutally murdered.”
“But who were his enemies?”
“As far as I am aware, he had none,” she answered. “The discovery of the check, however, is a curious fact, and if this Collinson could be found he could, no doubt, give the police a clue.”
“I think not,” her companion replied dubiously. “The check was dated three days before, and therefore, in all probability, had no connection whatever with his disappearance.”
“But now, with regard to Bethune. Where is he?”
“At the Trombetta at Turin, under the name of Harding. I had a telegram concerning him this morning. At your instigation a detective has followed him, but I confess I can see no object in this, because no warrant can be obtained, for the simple reason that the police have no knowledge that Sternroyd is actually dead. He may, after all, be keeping out of the way for some purpose or another. The most exhaustive inquiries have been made, but have failed to elicit any solution of the mystery. Even a careful examination of Bethune’s chambers, made by two most expert officers, has failed to show that any tragedy has been enacted. It is true that the Captain destroyed some papers before leafing, but they were mostly billets-doux which he apparently thought might prove compromising to some of his fair correspondents. Thoughtful of him, wasn’t it?”
“Very. He was a friend of Sybil’s, I believe?”