“And you now regret it,” he added abruptly.
Without replying I walked on by his side, smoking furiously. My object in seeking him had been to learn what I could of Ella’s past, but no mysterious incident had, to his knowledge, occurred. Her family were well-known in Yorkshire, respected throughout the county, and no breath of scandal had ever besmirched the fair fame of either Robert Laing’s widow or his daughter. Beck, their intimate friend, concealed nothing from me, but frankly discussed my hopes and fears, expressing his heartfelt sympathy that I should have thus mysteriously lost my well-beloved, and offering me all the assistance that lay in his power.
“It certainly is extremely curious that Mrs Laing should have left Pont Street without sending me a letter to the club, giving me her new address,” he said calmly, after reflection.
“You have not, then, heard from her?”
“No, I have had no letter. A week before I left for South Africa I dined there, and she then told me that she intended to remain in England throughout the year. She expressed the greatest gratification that Ella had married so happily, and seemed in the best of spirits. Yet a few days later, it appears, she fled as secretly as if she had been a criminal. It is really very extraordinary; I can’t account for it in the least.”
“All effort to trace Ella has failed,” I observed gloomily, after a moment’s reflection.
“Whose aid have you sought? A private inquiry agent?”
“No. The police,” I answered.
“Police!” he exclaimed, surprised. “They have committed no crime, surely. I—I mean that the police do not trace missing friends.”
“They will carry out the orders of any Government Department,” I answered. “The request came from my chief.”