“No, Mr. Dipper,” Kelson answered.  “It was all over long ago.  I was one of the last to come away.  We left to the strains of the National Anthem.”

Mr. Dipper’s face assumed a perplexed expression.

“Thank you, captain,” he said.  “My reason for asking the question is that Mr. Henshaw, who has a room here, has not come in.”

“Not come in?” Kelson repeated.  “Too bad to keep you up, Mr. Dipper.”

“Well, captain,” said the landlord, “you see it is getting on for four o’clock, and we want to lock up.  Of course if the ball was going on we should be prepared to keep open all night if necessary.  But my drivers told me an hour ago it was over.”

“So it was.  I wonder”—­Kelson turned to Gifford—­“what can have become of the egregious Henshaw.  I don’t think, as I told you in the ball-room, I have seen him since ten o’clock.”

Gifford shrugged.  “Unless he has come across friends and gone off with them.”

“He couldn’t well do that without calling here for his things,” Kelson objected.  “I suppose he did not do that, unknown to you?” he asked the landlord.

“No, captain.  His things are all laid out in his room, and the fire kept up as he ordered.”

“Then I don’t know what has become of him,” Kelson returned, manifestly not interested in the subject.  “I certainly should not keep open any longer.  If Mr. Henshaw turns up at an unreasonable hour, let him wait and get in when he can.  Don’t you think so, Hugh?”

Gifford nodded.  “I think, considering the hour, Mr. Dipper will be quite justified in locking up,” he answered.

“Thank you, gentlemen; I will.  Goodnight,” and the landlord departed.

Kelson turned to a side table and poured out a drink.

“Decent fellow, Dipper, and uniformly obliging,” he said.  “I certainly don’t see why he should be inconvenienced and kept out of his bed by that swanker, who has probably gone off with some pal and hasn’t had the decency to leave word to that effect.  Bad style of man altogether.  Hullo!  What’s this?”

“What’s the matter?”

Gifford crossed to Kelson, who was looking at his shirt-cuff.

“What’s this?”

A dark red streak was on the white linen.

“Hanged if it doesn’t look like blood,” Kelson said, holding it to the light.

Gifford caught his arm and scrutinized the stain.

“It is blood,” he said positively.

CHAPTER IV

THE MISSING GUEST

Next morning Captain Kelson took his guest for a long drive round the neighbourhood.  Before starting he asked the landlord at what time Henshaw had returned.

“He didn’t come in at all, captain,” Dipper answered in an aggrieved tone.  “His fire was kept up all night for nothing.”

“I suppose he has been here this morning,” Kelson observed casually.