“It must be so,” said Betty; “it would explain Lady Belle’s having had access to her!  And now?”

“Is it impossible to effect an entrance from the court and carry her away?” asked Sir Amyas.

“Entirely so,” said his uncle.  “The only door into the court is fit to stand a siege, and all the lower windows are barred and fastened with shutters.  The servants’ entrance is at the back towards the river, but no doubt it is also guarded, and my key will not serve for it.”

“I could get some sprightly fellow of ours to come disguised as Mohocks, and break in,” proceeded the youth, eagerly.  “Once in the court, trust me for forcing my way to her.”

“And getting lodged in Newgate for your pains, or tried by court-martial,” said the Major.  “No, when right is on our side, do not let us make it wrong.  Hush, Sir Amyas, it is I who must here act.  Whether you are her husband I do not know, I know that I am her father, and to-morrow morning, as soon as a magistrate can be spoken with, I shall go and demand a search warrant for the body of my daughter, Aurelia Delavie.”

“The body!  Good Heavens, sir,” cried Betty.

“Not without the sweet soul, my dear Miss Delavie,” said Mr. Belamour.  “Your excellent father has arrived at the only right and safe decision, and provided no farther alarm is given, I think he may succeed.  It is scarcely probable that my Lady is in constant communication with her stern porteress, and my person was evidently unknown.  For her own sake, as well as that of the small fee I dropped into her hand, she is unlikely to report my reconnoissance.”

Sir Amyas was frantic to go with his father-in-law, but both the elder men justly thought that his ambiguous claims would but complicate the matter.  The landlord was consulted as to the acting magistrates of the time, and gave two or three addresses.

Another night of prayer, suspense, and hope for Betty’s sick heart.  Then, immediately after breakfast, the Major set forth, attended by Palmer, long before Mr. Belamour had left his room, or the young baronet could escape from his military duties.  Being outside the City, the Strand was under the jurisdiction of justices of the peace for Middlesex, and they had so much more than they could do properly, that some of them did it as little as possible.  The first magistrate would not see him, because it was too early to attend to business; the second never heard matters at his private house, and referred him to the office in Bow Street.  In fact he would have been wiser to have gone thither at first, but he had hoped to have saved time.  He had to wait sitting on a greasy chair when he could no longer stand, till case after case was gone through, and when he finally had a hearing and applied for a warrant to search for his daughter in Delavie House, there was much surprise and reluctance to put such an insult on a lady of quality in favour at Court.  On his giving his