At one in the morning they were in London. They slept at Mr. Rolfe's house; and before breakfast Mr. Rolfe's secretary was sent to secure a couple of prize-fighters to attend upon Sir Charles till further notice. They were furnished with a written paper explaining the case briefly, and were instructed to hit first and talk afterward should a recapture be attempted. Should a crowd collect, they were to produce the letter. These measures were to provide against his recapture under the statute, which allows an alleged lunatic to be retaken upon the old certificates for fourteen days after his escape from confinement, but for no longer. Money is a good friend in such contingencies as these. Sir Charles started directly after breakfast to find his wife and child. The faithful pugilists followed at his heels in another cab. Neither Sir Charles nor Mr. Rolfe knew Lady Bassett's address: it was the medical man who had written: but that did not much matter; Sir Charles was sure to learn his wife's address from Mr. Boddington. He called on that gentleman at 17 Upper Gloucester Place. Mr. Boddington had just taken his wife down to Margate for her health; had only been gone half an hour. This was truly irritating and annoying. Apparently Sir Charles must wait that gentleman's return. He wrote a line, begging Mr. Boddington to send him Lady Bassett's address in a cab immediately on his return. He told Mr. Rolfe this; and then for the first time let out that his wife's not writing to him at the asylum had surprised and alarmed him; he was on thorns. Mr. Boddington returned in the middle of the night, and at breakfast time Sir Charles had a note to say Lady Bassett was at 119 Gloucester Place, Portman Square. Sir Charles bolted a mouthful or two of breakfast, and then dashed off in a hansom to 119 Gloucester Place. There was a bill in the window, “To be let, furnished. Apply to Parker & Ellis.” He knocked at the door. Nobody came. Knocked again. A lugubrious female opened the door. “Lady Bassett?” “Don't live here, sir. House to be let.” Sir Charles went to Mr. Boddington and told him. Mr. Boddington said he thought he could not be mistaken; but he would look at his address-book. He did, and said it was certainly 119 Gloucester Place; “Perhaps she has left,” said he. “She was very healthy--an excellent patient. But I should not have advised her to move for a day or two more.” Sir Charles was sore puzzled. He dashed off to the agents, Parker & Ellis. They said, Yes; the house was Lady Bassett's for a few months. They were instructed to let it. “When did she leave? I am her husband, and we have missed each other somehow.” The clerk interfered, and said Lady Bassett had brought the keys in her carriage yesterday. Sir Charles groaned with vexation and annoyance. “Did she give you no address?” “Yes, sir. Huntercombe Hall.” “I mean no address in London?” “No, sir; none.”