‘Enjoying himself,’ replied Barty, coolly; ’he came into the theatre and Villiers introduced him to me; then Mr Wopples asked us all to supper.’

‘You went, of course?’

’Rather, old chap; what do you take us for?’—­this from Barty, with a knowing wink.

‘What time did Vandeloup leave?’ asked Slivers, not paying any attention to Barty’s pantomime.

‘About twenty minutes to twelve.’

’Oh!  I suppose that was because he had to drive out to the Pactolus?’

‘Not such a fool, dear boy; he stayed all night in town.’

‘Oh!’ ejaculated Slivers, in an excited manner, drumming on the table with his fingers, ‘where did he stay?’

‘At the Wattle Tree Hotel.’

Slivers mentally made a note of this, and determined to go there and find out at what time Vandeloup had come home on the night in question, for this suspicious old man had now got it into his head that Vandeloup was in some way responsible for Villiers’ disappearance.

‘Where did Villiers say he was going when he left you?’ he asked.

‘Straight home.’

‘Humph!  Well, he didn’t go home at all.’

‘Didn’t he?’ echoed Barty, in some astonishment.  ’Then what’s become of him?  Men don’t disappear in this mysterious way without some reason.’

‘Ah, but there is a reason,’ replied Slivers, bending across the table and clawing at the papers thereon with the lean fingers of his one hand.

‘Why! what do you think is the reason?’ faltered Barty, letting his eye-glass drop out of his eye, and edging his chair further away from this terrible old man.

‘Murder!’ hissed the other through his thin lips.  ’He’s been murdered!’

‘Lord!’ ejaculated Barty, jumping up from his chair in alarm; ‘you’re going too far, old chap.’

‘I’m going further,’ retorted Slivers, rising from his chair and stumping up and down the room; ’I’m going to find out who did it, and then I’ll grind her to powder; I’ll twist her neck off, curse her.’

‘Is it a woman?’ asked Barty, who now began to think of making a retreat, for Slivers, with his one eye blazing, and his cork arm swinging rapidly to and fro, was not a pleasant object to contemplate.

This unguarded remark recalled Slivers to himself.

That’s what I want to find out,’ he replied, sulkily, going back to his chair.  ‘Have some more whisky?’

‘No, thanks,’ answered Barty, going to the door, ’I’m late as it is for my engagement; ta, ta, old chap, I hope you’ll drop on the he or she you’re looking for; but you’re quite wrong, Villiers has bolted with the nugget, and that’s a fact, sir,’ and with an airy wave of his hand Barty went out, leaving Slivers in anything but a pleasant temper.

‘Bah! you peacock,’ cried this wicked old man, banging his wooden leg against the table, ’you eye-glass idiot—­you brainless puppy—­ I’m wrong, am I? we’ll see about that, you rag-shop.’  This last in allusion to Barty’s picturesque garb.  ’I’ve found out all I want from you, and I’ll track her down, and put her in gaol, and hang her—­hang her till she’s as dead as a door nail.’