“Perhaps,” said the Duke, in great perplexity, “we had better have the lady’s maid up again, and question her more strictly in regard to the strange visitor’s name and address; for I feel certain that the disappearance of the duchess is immediately connected with the visit of that woman.  If we can, by judicious questions, so stimulate the memory of the girl as to obtain accurate information about the name and residence, we can send and make inquiries.”

For all answer, Lady Belgrade arose and rung the bell for about the twentieth time that afternoon.

And Margaret Watson was again called to the drawing-room and questioned.

“Indeed, if you please, my lady, I am very sorry.  I would give anything in the world if I could only remember exactly what the old person’s name was, and where she lived.  But indeed, my lady, what with being very much engaged with waiting on her grace, and packing up the last little things for the journey, and getting together the dressing-bags and such like, and having of my mind on them and not on the woman, and no ways expecting anything like this to happen, I wasn’t that interested in the visitor to tax my memory with her affairs.  But I know her name was a common one, like Smith or Jones, and I think it was Jones.  And I know she said she lived on Westminster Road or Blackfriars Road, or some other road leading over a bridge, which I remember because it made me think about the river.  But I couldn’t tell which,” said the girl in answer to the cross-questioning.

“And is that all you can tell us?” inquired Lady Belgrade.

“I beg pardon, my lady, but that is all I can remember,” meekly replied the girl.

“Then you might as well remember nothing.  You can go!” said Lady Belgrade, in deep displeasure.

The girl retired, a little crestfallen.

“Is there any other fool you would like to have called up and cross-examined, Duke?” sarcastically inquired the lady.

The duke made a gesture of negation.  And the lady relapsed into painful silence.

And now another weary, weary hour crept by without bringing news of the lost one.

The watchers seemed to “possess their souls” in patience, if not “in peace.”  There was really nothing to be done but to wait.  There was no place where inquiries could be made.  At this time of the year nearly all the fashionable world of London was out of town.  Nor at any time had Salome any intimate acquaintances to whom she would have gone.  Nor would it have been expedient just yet to apply to the detective police for help to search abroad for one who might of herself return home at any moment.

The Duke of Hereward and Lady Belgrade could only wait it in terrible anxiety, though with outward calmness, for what the night might bring forth.

But in what a monotonous and insensible manner all household routine continues, “in well regulated families,” through the most revolutionary sort of domestic troubles.