My next move was to consult the list of outgoing steamers.  Hilda had left London on a Saturday morning.  Now, on alternate Saturdays, the steamers of the Castle line sail from Southampton, where they call to take up passengers and mails.  Was this one of those alternate Saturdays?  I looked at the list of dates:  it was.  That told further in favour of Southampton.  But did any steamer of any passenger line sail from Plymouth on the same day?  None, that I could find.  Or from Southampton elsewhere?  I looked them all up.  The Royal Mail Company’s boats start on Wednesdays; the North German Lloyd’s on Wednesdays and Sundays.  Those were the only likely vessels I could discover.  Either, then, I concluded, Hilda meant to sail on Saturday by the Castle line for South Africa, or else on Sunday by North German Lloyd for some part of America.

How I longed for one hour of Hilda to help me out with her almost infallible instinct.  I realised how feeble and fallacious was my own groping in the dark.  Her knowledge of temperament would have revealed to her at once what I was trying to discover, like the police she despised, by the clumsy “clues” which so roused her sarcasm.

However, I went to bed and slept on it.  Next morning I determined to set out for Southampton on a tour of inquiry to all the steamboat agencies.  If that failed, I could go on to Plymouth.

But, as chance would have it, the morning post brought me an unexpected letter, which helped me not a little in unravelling the problem.  It was a crumpled letter, written on rather soiled paper, in an uneducated hand, and it bore, like Hilda’s, the Basingstoke postmark.

“Charlotte Churtwood sends her duty to Dr. Cumberledge,” it said, with somewhat uncertain spelling, “and I am very sorry that I was not able to Post the letter to you in London, as the lady ast me, but after her train ad left has I was stepping into mine the Ingine started and I was knocked down and badly hurt and the lady gave me a half-sovering to Post it in London has soon as I got there but bein unable to do so I now return it dear sir not knowing the lady’s name and adress she having trusted me through seeing me on the platform, and perhaps you can send it back to her, and was very sorry I could not Post it were she ast me, but time bein an objeck put it in the box in Basingstoke station and now inclose post office order for ten Shillings whitch dear sir kindly let the young lady have from your obedient servant,

“Charlotte Churtwood.”

In the corner was the address:  “11, Chubb’s Cottages, Basingstoke.”