“Who wanted him?” the Duke enquired.  “His tailor?”

“Business of importance was his pretext,” Dominey replied.

There was a little ripple of good-humoured laughter.

“Does Eddy do anything for a living?” Caroline asked, yawning.

“Mr. Pelham is a director of the Chelsea Motor Works,” Mangan told them.  “He received a small legacy last year, and his favourite taxicab man was the first to know about it.”

“You’re not suggesting,” she exclaimed, “that it is business of that sort which has taken Eddy away!”

“I should think it most improbable,” Mangan confessed.  “As a matter of fact, he asked me the other day if I knew where their premises were.”

“We shall miss him,” she acknowledged.  “It was quite one of the events of the day to see his costume after shooting.”

“His bridge was reasonably good,” the Duke commented.

“He shot rather well the last two days,” Mangan remarked.

“And he had told me confidentially,” Caroline concluded, “that he was going to wear brown to-day.  Now I think Eddy would have looked nice in brown.”

The missing young man’s requiem was finished by the arrival of the local morning papers.  A few moments later Dominey rose and left the room.  Seaman, who had been unusually silent, followed him.

“My friend,” he confided, “I do not know whether you have heard, but there was a curious disappearance from the Hall last night.”

“Whose?” Dominey asked, pausing in the act of selecting a cigarette.

“Our friend Miller, or Wolff—­Doctor Schmidt’s emissary,” Seaman announced, “has disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” Dominey repeated.  “I suppose he is having a prowl round somewhere.”

“I have left it to you to make more careful enquiries,” Seaman replied.  “All I can tell you is that I made up my mind last night to interview him once more and try to fathom his very mysterious behaviour.  I found the door of your butler’s sitting-room locked, and a very civil fellow—­Mr. Pelham’s valet he turned out to be—­told me that he had left in the car which went for the evening papers.”

“I will go and make some enquiries,” Dominey decided, after a moment’s puzzled consideration.

“If you please,” Seaman acquiesced.  “The affair disconcerts me because I do not understand it.  When there is a thing which I do not understand, I am uncomfortable.”

Dominey vanished into the nether regions, spent half an hour with Rosamund, and saw nothing of his disturbed guest again until they were walking to the first wood.  They had a moment together after Dominey had pointed out the stands.

“Well?” Seaman enquired.

“Our friend,” Dominey announced, “apparently made up his mind to go quite suddenly.  A bed was arranged for him—­or rather it is always there—­in a small apartment opening out of the butler’s room, on the ground floor.  He said nothing about leaving until he saw Parkins preparing to go down to the station with the chauffeur.  Then he insisted upon accompanying him, and when he found there was a train to Norwich he simply bade them both good night.  He left no message whatever for either you or me.”