“The child’s back,” he said, “and of course that’s the great thing. But I’m not satisfied, Mr. Hewitt. I want to know why it was taken away, and I want to punish somebody. It’s really very extraordinary. My poor wife has been driving about all day--she called on you, by the bye, but you were out” (Hewitt credited this to Kerrett, who had been told he must not be disturbed), “and she has been all over the place uselessly, unable to rest, of course. Well, I have been at home since half-past four, and at about six I was smoking in the small morning-room--I often use it as a smoking-room--and looking out at the French window. I came away from there, and half an hour or more later, as it was getting dusk, I remembered I had left the French window open, and sent a servant to shut it. She went straight to the room, and there on the floor, where he was seen last, she found the child playing with his toys as though nothing had happened!” “And how was he dressed--as he is now?” “Yes, just as he was when we missed him.” Hewitt stepped up to the child as he sat on his mother’s lap, and rubbed his cheek, speaking pleasantly to him. The little fellow looked up and smiled, and Hewitt observed: “One thing is noticeable: this linen overall is almost clean. Little boys like this don’t keep one white overall clean for three days, do they? And see--those shoes--aren’t they new? Those he had were old, I think you said, and tan-coloured.” The shoes now on the child’s feet were of white leather, with a noticeable sewn ornamentation in silk. His mother had not noticed them before, and as she looked he lifted his little foot higher and said. “Look, mummy, more new shoes!” “Ask him,” suggested Hewitt hurriedly, “who gave them to him.” His father asked him, and the little fellow looked puzzled. After a pause, he said, “Mummy.” “No,” his mother answered, “_I_ didn’t.” He thought a moment and then said, “No, no, not _vis_ mummy--course not.” And for some little while after that the only answer procurable from him was, “Course not,” which seemed to be a favourite phrase of his. “Have you asked him where he has been?” “Yes,” his mother answered, “but he only says ‘Ta-ta.’” “Ask him again.” She did. This time, after a little reflection, he pointed his chubby arm toward the door and said. “Been dere.” “Who took you?” asked Mrs. Seton. Again Charley seemed puzzled. Then, looking doubtfully at his mother, he said “Mummy.” “No, not mummy,” she answered; and his reply was “Course not,” after which he attempted to climb on her shoulder. Then, at Hewitt’s suggestion, he was asked whom he went to see. This time the reply was prompt. “Poor daddy,” he said. “What, _this_ daddy?” “No, not _vis_ daddy--course not.” And that was all that could be got from him. “He will probably say things in the next day or two which may be useful,” Hewitt said, “if you listen pretty sharply. Now I should like to go to the small morning-room.”