“Well, Doctor,” said Tony West, as he entered the room, “what’s the plan?  I don’t like Wynne’s absence, I swear I don’t.  It—­it looks fishy, somehow.  And he was in no mood to play boyish pranks on us by turnin’ in at the Brelliers’ place.  There’s somethin’ else afoot.  What’s your idea, now?”

The doctor considered a moment.

“Better be getting out and form a search party,” he said quietly.  “If nothing turns up—­well, Nigel needn’t know we’ve been out.  But—­there’s more in this than meets the eye, boys.  Frankly, I don’t like it.  Wynne’s a brute, but he never liked practical joking.  It’s my private opinion that he would have returned by now—­if something hadn’t happened to him.  We’ll wait till dawn, and then we’ll go.  Nigel is good for some hours yet.  Wynne always had a bad effect on him.  Ever noticed it, West?  Or you, Stark?”

The two men nodded.

“Yes,” said Tony, “I have.  Many times.  Nigel’s never the same fellow when that man’s about.  He’s—­he’s got some sort of devilish influence over him, I believe.  And how he hates Nigel!  See his eyes to-night?  He could have killed him, I believe—­specially as Nigel’s taken his girl.”

“Yes.”  The doctor’s voice was rather grave.  “Wynne’s a queer chap and a revengeful one.  And he was as drunk as a beast to-night....  Well, boys we’ll sit down and wait awhile.”

Pipes were got out and cigarettes lighted.  For an hour in the hot smoking-room the men sat, talking in undertones and smoking, or dropping off into long silences.  Finally the doctor drew out his watch.  He sighed as he looked at it.

“Three o’clock, and no sign of Wynne yet.  We’ll be getting our things on, boys.”

Instantly every man rose to his feet.  The tension slackened with movement.  In comparative silence they stole out into the hall, threw on their coats and hats, and then Tony West nervously slid the bolts of the big front door.  It creaked once or twice, but no sound from the still house answered it.  West swung it open, and on the whitened step they quietly put on their shoes.

The doctor switched on an electric torch and threw a blob of light upon the gravelled pathway for them to see the descent.  Then one by one they went quietly down the steps, and West shut the door behind them.

“Excellent!  Excellent!” exclaimed Doctor Bartholomew, as the gate was reached with no untoward happenings.  “Not a soul knows we’re gone, boys.  That’s pretty certain.  Now, then, out of the gate and turn to the right up that lane.  It’ll take us to the very edge of the Fens, I believe, and then our search will commence.”

He spoke with assurance, and they followed him instinctively.  Unconsciously they had made him captain of the expedition.  But—­no one had heard them, he had said?  If he had looked back once when the big gate shut, he might have changed his mind upon that score.  With white face pressed close against the glass of the smoking-room window, which looked directly out upon the front path, stood Borkins, watching them as though he were watching a line of ghosts on their nightly prowl.