“My land!” sighed Mrs. Trapes, “me best bonnet—­”

“I know, Ann.  I made it for you over a year ago, and it’s time you had another, anyway!  Now, open that parcel—­this minute!”

But instead of doing so, Mrs. Trapes sank down in the chair beside the table and bowed her head in her hands.

“Hermy,” said she, “oh, my lamb, he’s gone!  You left Arthur in my care an’—­he’s gone, an’ it’s my fault.  Went away at five o’clock, an’ here it is nigh on to ten—­an’ him sick!  God knows I’ve searched for him—­tramped to th’ ferry an’ back, an’ th’ footmen they’ve looked for him an’ so have th’ maids—­but Arthur’s gone—­an’ it’s my fault!  So, Hermy—­my dear—­blame me an’ let me go—­”

The harsh voice broke and, bowing her head, she sat silent, touching the unopened packet of jewellery with one long, bony finger.

“Why, Ann—­dear Ann—­you’re crying!” Hermione was down on her knees, had clasped that long bony figure in her arms.  “You mustn’t, Ann, you mustn’t.  I’m sure it wasn’t your fault, so don’t grieve, dear—­there!” And she had drawn the disconsolate grey head down upon her shoulder and pillowed it there.

“But—­oh, Hermy, he’s gone!  An’ you told me to—­look after him.”

“Ann, if Arthur meant to go, I’m sure you couldn’t have prevented him; he isn’t a child any longer, dear.  There, be comforted—­we’ll hunt for him in the car—­won’t we, Geoffrey?”

“Of course,” nodded Ravenslee, “I’ll ’phone the garage right away.”

But as he opened the door he came face to face with Joe, who touched an eyebrow and jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

“S’cuse me, sir,” said he, “but it’s that Old Un, covered wi’ dust ’e is, sir, an’ wants a word wi’ you.  And, sir, ’e ’s that mysterious as never was.  Shall I let him come in, sir?”

“You try an’ keep me out, my lad, that’s all!” panted the Old Un, ducking under Joe’s great arm, “I’m better man nor ever you’ll be!”

So saying, the Old Un hobbled forward and, sinking into the nearest armchair, fanned himself with his hat, which, like the rest of his garments, bore the dust of travel.

“Greetin’s, Guv!” said he, when he had caught his breath. “’Ere I be—­a old man as ‘as done more for ye than all th’ young ’uns put t’gether.  Mrs. Ravenslee, ma’am, best respex!”

“And what have you been doing now?” enquired Ravenslee, smiling.

“Well, Guv, I been an’ got th’ murderer for ye, that’s all!”

Hermione caught her breath suddenly and gazed at the fierce, dusty old man with eyes full of growing terror; beholding which Ravenslee frowned, then laughed lightly and, seating himself on a corner of the table, swung his leg to and fro.

“So you’ve found him out, have you, Old Un?”

“Ah, that I have!”

“Are you sure?”

“Ah, quite sure, Guv.”

“Well, where is he—­trot him out.”

“‘E’s comin’ along—­th’ Spider’s bringin’ un.  Ye see, he’s a bit wore out same as I am—­we been trampin’ all th’ arternoon.  Look at me shoes, that’s th’ worst o’ patent leather—­they shows th’ dust.  Joe, my lad, jest give ’em a flick over with ye wipe.”