“The Craig Fernie inn?  Uncle! you have forgotten what I told you.”

“Wait a little, my dear.  Miss Silvester herself has left the inn, I grant you.  But (if we should unhappily fail in finding her by any other means) Miss Silvester has left a trace to guide us at Craig Fernie.  That trace must be picked up at once, in case of accidents.  You don’t seem to follow me?  I am getting over the ground as fast as the pony gets over it.  I have arrived at the second of those two heads into which your story divides itself in my mind.  What did Miss Silvester tell you had happened at the inn?”

“She lost a letter at the inn.”

“Exactly.  She lost a letter at the inn; that is one event.  And Bishopriggs, the waiter, has quarreled with Mrs. Inchbare, and has left his situation; that is another event.  As to the letter first.  It is either really lost, or it has been stolen.  In either case, if we can lay our hands on it, there is at least a chance of its helping us to discover something.  As to Bishopriggs, next—­”

“You’re not going to talk about the waiter, surely?”

“I am!  Bishopriggs possesses two important merits.  He is a link in my chain of reasoning; and he is an old friend of mine.”

“A friend of yours?”

“We live in days, my dear, when one workman talks of another workman as ’that gentleman.’—­I march with the age, and feel bound to mention my clerk as my friend.  A few years since Bishopriggs was employed in the clerks’ room at my chambers.  He is one of the most intelligent and most unscrupulous old vagabonds in Scotland; perfectly honest as to all average matters involving pounds, shillings, and pence; perfectly unprincipled in the pursuit of his own interests, where the violation of a trust lies on the boundary-line which marks the limit of the law.  I made two unpleasant discoveries when I had him in my employment.  I found that he had contrived to supply himself with a duplicate of my seal; and I had the strongest reason to suspect him of tampering with some papers belonging to two of my clients.  He had done no actual mischief, so far; and I had no time to waste in making out the necessary case against him.  He was dismissed from my service, as a man who was not to be trusted to respect any letters or papers that happened to pass through his hands.”

“I see, uncle!  I see!”

“Plain enough now—­isn’t it?  If that missing letter of Miss Silvester’s is a letter of no importance, I am inclined to believe that it is merely lost, and may be found again.  If, on the other hand, there is any thing in it that could promise the most remote advantage to any person in possession of it, then, in the execrable slang of the day, I will lay any odds, Blanche, that Bishopriggs has got the letter!”

“And he has left the inn!  How unfortunate!”