THE BRIDEGROOM.

According to his promise given to Lady Belgrade, the Duke of Hereward returned to Elmthorpe House to make his report.

He found the dowager waiting for him where he had left her, in the back drawing-room.

He greeted her only by a silent bow, and she questioned him only by a mute look.

“I have placed the case in the hands of Setter, confidentially, of course.  He will commence secret investigations to-night,” he said.

“This morning, you mean, Duke.  It is now two o’clock,” remarked the dowager.

“Is it, indeed, so late?”

“So early you should say.  Yes, it is.  But what thinks the detective of this affair?”

“He is inclined to think as we do, that our dear Salome has been decoyed away by some tale of extreme distress, and for purposes of robbery,” answered the young duke, pressing his white lips firmly together in his effort to control all expression of the anguish that was secretly wringing his heart.

“And what does he think of the chances of finding her soon and finding her safe?” inquired the dowager.

The duke slowly shook his head.

“Well, and what does that mean?” asked the lady.

“It means that Detective Setter cannot form an opinion, or will not commit himself to the expression of one at present.  And now, dear Lady Belgrade, as it is after two o’clock, I must bid you good-night—­”

“Good-morning, rather,” interrupted the dowager.

“And return to my lodgings,” continued the duke, passing his hand across his forehead, like one “dazed” with trouble.

“I beg you will do nothing of the sort, Duke,” said Lady Belgrade, hastily interposing.  “You have left your lodgings for a wedding tour.  You are not expected back there.  Your people think that you are far from London with your bride.  In the name of propriety, let them think so still.  Do not go back there to-night, and wake them all up, and start a nine days’ wonder of scandal.  Stay where you are, Duke, quietly, until we recover our Salome.  When we do, you can both leave for Paris.  All the world will know nothing of this distressing affair, which, if it were to come to their knowledge, would be exaggerated, perverted, turned and twisted out of all its original shape, into some horrid story of scandal.  Remember now, how few people know anything about it—­only you, I, the detective necessarily taken into your confidence, and the servants, for whose discretion I can answer.  Remain quietly here, therefore, that all gossip may be stopped.”

The duke resumed his seat, but did not immediately answer.

“Do you not think my counsel good?” inquired the lady.

“Very good.  Thanks, Lady Belgrade.  I will follow your advice.  There is another reason why I should do so, but with which you are not acquainted.  In the absorption of my thoughts with the subject of our Salome, I totally forgot to tell you that I have just been subpoenaed as a witness for the crown, in the approaching trial of John Potts and Rose Cameron for the murder of Sir Lemuel Levison.  The case will come on at the Assizes at Banff on Thursday next.  I must leave for Scotland to-morrow,” said the young duke.