“Gently, Percival—­gently!  Are you insensible to the virtue of Lady Glyde?”

“That for the virtue of Lady Glyde!  I believe in nothing about her but her money.  Don’t you see how the case stands?  She might be harmless enough by herself; but if she and that vagabond Hartright——­”

“Yes, yes, I see.  Where is Mr. Hartright?”

“Out of the country.  If he means to keep a whole skin on his bones, I recommend him not to come back in a hurry.”

“Are you sure he is out of the country?”

“Certain.  I had him watched from the time he left Cumberland to the time he sailed.  Oh, I’ve been careful, I can tell you!  Anne Catherick lived with some people at a farm-house near Limmeridge.  I went there myself, after she had given me the slip, and made sure that they knew nothing.  I gave her mother a form of letter to write to Miss Halcombe, exonerating me from any bad motive in putting her under restraint.  I’ve spent, I’m afraid to say how much, in trying to trace her, and in spite of it all, she turns up here and escapes me on my own property!  How do I know who else may see her, who else may speak to her?  That prying scoundrel, Hartright, may come back with-out my knowing it, and may make use of her to-morrow——­”

“Not he, Percival!  While I am on the spot, and while that woman is in the neighbourhood, I will answer for our laying hands on her before Mr. Hartright—­even if he does come back.  I see! yes, yes, I see!  The finding of Anne Catherick is the first necessity—­make your mind easy about the rest.  Your wife is here, under your thumb—­Miss Halcombe is inseparable from her, and is, therefore, under your thumb also—­and Mr. Hartright is out of the country.  This invisible Anne of yours is all we have to think of for the present.  You have made your inquiries?”

“Yes.  I have been to her mother, I have ransacked the village—­ and all to no purpose.”

“Is her mother to be depended on?”

“Yes.”

“She has told your secret once.”

“She won’t tell it again.”

“Why not?  Are her own interests concerned in keeping it, as well as yours?”

“Yes—­deeply concerned.”

“I am glad to hear it, Percival, for your sake.  Don’t be discouraged, my friend.  Our money matters, as I told you, leave me plenty of time to turn round in, and I may search for Anne Catherick to-morrow to better purpose than you.  One last question before we go to bed.”

“What is it?”

“It is this.  When I went to the boat-house to tell Lady Glyde that the little difficulty of her signature was put off, accident took me there in time to see a strange woman parting in a very suspicious manner from your wife.  But accident did not bring me near enough to see this same woman’s face plainly.  I must know how to recognise our invisible Anne.  What is she like?”

“Like?  Come!  I’ll tell you in two words.  She’s a sickly likeness of my wife.”