“She woke up suddenly,” said Jerkley, “in the middle of the night, and found that her husband was not at her side.  She waited for a little and then rose from her bed.  She drew the window-curtains aside and by the glimmering light which came into the room, was able to read the dial of her watch.  It was seven minutes past three of the morning.  She immediately lighted her candle and went to rouse her father.  Her door opened upon the landing, it is the first door upon the left hand side as you mount the stairs; the big drawing-room opens on to the landing too, but faces the stairs.  Mrs. Lashley at once went to that room, knowing how late Mr. Mardale is used to sit over his inventions, and as she expected, found him there.  A search was at once arranged; every servant in the house was at once impressed, and in the morning every servant on the estate.  Major Lashley had left the stable at a quarter past ten.  He has been seen by no one since.”

Sir Charles reflected upon this story.

“There is a pond in front of the house,” said he.

“It was dragged in the morning,” replied Jerkley.

Sir Charles made various inquiries and received the most unsatisfactory answers for his purpose.  Major Lashley had been a favourite alike at Tangier, and in the country.  He had a winning trick of a smile, which made friends for him even among his country’s enemies.  Mr. Jerkley could not think of a man who had wished him ill.

“Well, I will think the matter over,” said Sir Charles, who had not an idea in his head, and he held the door open for Mr. Jerkley.  Both men stood upon the threshold, looked down the passage and then looked at one another.

“It is strange,” said Jerkley.

“The light has been a long while burning on the landing,” said Sir Charles.  They walked on tiptoe down the passage to the door beneath which one bright bar of light stretched across the floor.  Jerkley opened the door and looked through; Sir Charles who was the taller man looked over Jerkley’s head and never were two men more surprised.  In the embrasure of that door to the left of the staircase, the door behind which Resilda Lashley slept, old Mr. Mardale reclined, with his back propped against the door-post.  He had fallen asleep at his post, and a lighted candle half-burnt flamed at his side.  The reason of his presence then was clear to them both.

“A morbid fancy!” he said in a whisper, but with a considerable anger in his voice.  “Such a fancy as comes only to a man who has lost his judgment through much loneliness.  See, he sits like any negro outside an Eastern harem!  Sir, I am shamed by him.”