The Herapath Property

Oh, yes, he came home, but he's not
at home now! Charlesworth--the valet, you know, sir--always goes into
Mr. Herapath's room at a quarter past seven every morning; when he went
in just now he found that Mr. Herapath wasn't there, and the bed hadn't
been slept in. So--that's where things stand."

Selwood looked round the room. The curtains had not yet been drawn
aside, and the electric light cast a cold glare on the various
well-known objects and fittings. He glanced at the evidences of the
supper tray; then at the blotting-pad on Herapath's desk; there he might
have left a note for his butler or his secretary. But there was no note
to be seen.

"Still, I don't see that there's anything to be alarmed about,
Kitteridge," he said. "Mr. Herapath may have wanted to go somewhere by a
very early morning train----"

"No, sir, excuse me, that won't do," broke in the butler. "I thought of
that myself. But if he'd wanted to catch a night train, he'd have taken
a travelling coat, and a rug, and a bag of some sort--he's taken nothing
at all in that way. Besides, I've been in this house seven years, and I
know his habits. If he'd wanted to go away by one of the very early
morning trains he'd have kept me and Charlesworth up, making ready for
him. No, sir! He came home, and went out again--must have done.
And--it's uncommonly queer. Seven years I've been here, as I say, and he
never did such a thing before."

Selwood turned to the coachman.

"You brought Mr. Herapath home at one o'clock?" he said. "Alone?"

"He was alone, sir," replied the coachman, who had been staring around him
as if to seek some solution of the mystery. "I'll tell you all that
happened--I was just beginning to tell Mr. Kitteridge here when you come
in. I fetched Mr. Herapath from the House of Commons last night at a
quarter past eleven--took him up in Palace Yard at the usual spot, just as
the clock was striking. 'Mountain,' he says, 'I want you to drive round to
the estate office--I want to call there.' So I drove there--that's in
Kensington, as you know, sir. When he got out he says, 'Mountain,' he
says, 'I shall be three-quarters of an hour or so here--wrap the mare up
and walk her about,' he says. I did as he said, but he was more than
three-quarters--it was like an hour. Then at last he came back to the
brougham, just said one word, 'Home!' and I drove him here, and the clocks
were striking one when he got out. He said 'Good night,' and I saw him
walk up the steps and put his key in the latch as I drove off to our
stables. And that's all I know about it."

Selwood turned to the butler.

"I suppose no one was up at that time?" he inquired.

"Nobody, sir," answered Kitteridge. "There never is. Mr. Herapath, as
you've no doubt observed, is a bit strict in the matter of rules, and
it's one of his rules that everybody in the house must be in bed by
eleven-thirty. No one was ever to sit up for him on any occasion. That's
why this supper-tray was always left ready. His usual time for coming in
when he'd been at the House was twelve o'clock."

"Everybody in the house might be in bed," observed Selwood, "but not
everybody might be asleep. Have you made any inquiry as to whether
anybody heard Mr. Herapath moving about in the night, or leaving the
house? Somebody may have heard the hall door opened and closed, you
know."

"I'll make inquiry as to that, sir," responded Kitteridge, "but I've
heard nothing of the sort so far, and all the servants are aware by now
that Mr. Herapath isn't in the house. If anybody had heard anything----"

Before the butler could say more the study door opened and a girl came
into the room. At sight of her Selwood spoke hurriedly to Kitteridge.

"Have you told Miss Wynne?" he whispered. "Does she know?"

"She may have heard from her maid, sir," replied Kitteridge in low
tones. "Of course they're all talking of it. I was going to ask to see
Miss Wynne as soon as she was dressed."

By that time the girl had advanced towards the three men, and Selwood
stepped forward to meet her. He knew her as Herapath's niece, the
daughter of a dead sister of whom Herapath had been very fond; he knew,
too, that Herapath had brought her up from infancy and treated her as a
daughter. She was at this time a young woman of twenty-one or two, a
pretty, eminently likeable young woman, with signs of character and
resource in eyes and lips, and Selwood had seen enough of her to feel
sure that in any disturbing event she would keep her head. She spoke
calmly enough as the secretary met her.

"What's all this, Mr. Selwood?" she asked. "I understand my uncle is not
in the house. But there's nothing alarming in that, Kitteridge, is
there? Mr. Herapath may have gone away during the night, you know."

"Kitteridge thinks that highly improbable," replied Selwood. "He says
that Mr. Herapath had made no preparation for a sudden journey, has
taken no travelling coat or rug, or luggage of any sort."

"Did he come in from the House?"