Hubert Denton smiled incredulously, and patting his friend upon the shoulder, said:
“All right, my dear fellow. Go to sleep. A good rest will do you a lot of good. I’ll see you in the morning.”
The doctor left and Roddy Homfray, tired and exhausted after an exciting day, dropped off to sleep—a sleep full of strange, fantastic dreams in which the sweet calm face of Elma Sandys appeared ever and anon.
Next morning at about nine o’clock, when Roddy awakened to find the weather bright and crisp, he called his father, and said:
“I don’t want Inspector Freeman to know about what I’ve told you—about the girl in Welling Wood.”
“Certainly not,” replied the quiet old rector reassuringly. “That is your own affair. They found nothing when they searched the wood for you.”
“Perhaps they didn’t look in the right spot,” remarked his son. “Elma will be here at ten, and we’ll go together—alone—you don’t mind, father?”
“Not in the least, my boy,” laughed the old man. “Miss Sandys seems deeply distressed concerning you.”
“Does she?” asked Roddy, with wide-open eyes. “Do you really think she is? Or is it the mystery of the affair which appeals to her. Mystery always appeals to women in a greater sense than to men. Every mystery case in the newspapers is read by ten women to one man, they say.”
“Perhaps. But I think Miss Sandys evinces a real interest in you, Roddy, because you are ill and the victim of mysterious circumstances,” he said.