The Lady Sleuths MEGAPACK TM(238)

                             “Threatens to shoot her; starts off on a journey round the world,” summed up Loveday. “Do you know the date of the day on which he left Langford?”

                “Yes, it was on the 19th; the day before Miss Golding disappeared. But Ramsay has already traced him down to Brindisi; ascertained that he went on board the Buckingham, en route for Alexandria, and has beaten out the theory that he can, by any possibility, be connected with the affair. So I wouldn’t advise you to look in that quarter for your clue.”

                “I am not at all sanguine about finding a clue in any quarter,” said Loveday, as she rose to take leave.

                She did not feel in the best of tempers, and was a little disposed to resent having a case, so to speak, forced upon her under such disadvantageous conditions.

                Her last words to Mr. Dyer were almost the first she addressed to Inspector Ramsay when, towards the close of the day, she was met by him at Langford Cross Station. Ramsay was a lanky, bony Scotchman, sandy-haired and slow of speech.

                “Our hopes centre on you; we trust you’ll not disappoint us,” he said, by way of a greeting.

                His use of the plural number made Loveday turn in the direction of a tall, good-looking man, with a remarkably frank expression of countenance, who stood at the inspector’s elbow.



                             “I am Lord Guilleroy,” said this gentleman, coming forward. “Will you allow me to drive you to Langford Hall? My cab is waiting outside.”

                “Thank you; one moment,” answered Loveday, again turning to Ramsay. “Now, do you wish,” she said, addressing him, “to tell me anything beyond the facts you have already communicated to Mr. Dyer?”

                “No-o,” answered the inspector, slowly and sententiously. “I would rather not bias your mind in any direction by any theory of mine.” (“It would be rather a waste of time to attempt such a thing,” thought Loveday.) “The only additional fact I have to mention is one you would see for yourself so soon as you arrived at the Hall, namely, that Mr. Golding is keeping up with great difficulty—in fact, is on the verge of a break-down. He has not had half an hour’s sleep since his daughter left home,—a serious thing that for a man at his age.”

                Loveday was favourably impressed with Lord Guilleroy. He gave her the idea of being a man of strong common-sense and great energy. His conversation was marked by a certain reserve. Although, however, he evidently declined to wear his heart upon his sleeve, it was easy to see, from a few words that escaped him, that if the search for Miss Golding proved fruitless his whole life would be wrecked.

                He did not share Inspector Ramsay’s wish not to bias Loveday’s mind by any theory of his own.

                “If I had a theory you should have it in a minute,” he said, as he whipped up his horse and drove rapidly along the country road; “but I confess at the present moment my mind is a perfect blank on the matter. I have had a dozen theories, and have been compelled, one by one, to let them all go. I have suspected every one in turn, Cleeve, her own father (God forgive me!), her intended step-mother, the very servants in the house, and, one by one, circumstances have seemed to exonerate them all. It’s bewildering—it’s maddening! And most maddening of all it is to have to sit here with idle hands, when I would scour the earth from end to end to find her!”



                             The country around Langford Hall, like most of the hunting districts in Leicestershire, was as flat as if a gigantic stream-roller had passed over it. The Hall itself was a somewhat imposing Gothic structure, of rough grey stone. Very grey and drear it showed in the autumn landscape as Loveday drove in through the park gates and caught her first glimpse of it between the all but leafless elms that flanked the drive. The equinoctial gales had set in early this year, and heavy rains had helped forward their work of wreckage and destruction. The green sward of the park was near akin to a swamp; and the trout stream that flowed across it at an angle showed swollen to its very banks. The sky was leaden with gathering masses of clouds; a flight of rooks, wheeling low and flapping their black wings, with their mournful cawing, completed the dreariness of the scene.