He approached his house from the rear, keeping as far as possible from the road, lingered at the barn, dodged from it to the garage, and crept furtively into his study by a side door as the clock struck two. He had seen none of his employees on the farm and the house was ominously still. He rang the bell and in a moment the scared face of Beeching was thrust in. “Beg pardon; are you home, sir?” asked the servant with a frightened gulp. “Of course I’m home!” said Farrington with all the dignity his scratched face and torn clothes would permit. “I missed you, sir,” said the man gravely. “I thought maybe you was off looking for Arabella.” The book Farrington had been nervously fingering fell with a bang. “What--what the devil do you know about Arabella?” “She’s lost, sir. The kennel master and the chauffeur is off looking for her. It’s a most singular case.” “Yes,” Farrington assented; “most remarkable. Have there been any--er--have any people been looking here for--for her?” “Well, sir, the sheriff stopped a while ago to ask whether we’d seen such a girl; and there was a constable on horseback, and citizens in machines. Her father has offered a reward of ten thousand dollars. And there’s a man missing, they say, sir, a dangerous character they caught on the Banning place last night. There’s a thousand on him; it’s a kidnapping matter, sir.” Farrington’s throat troubled him and he swallowed hard. “It’s a shameful case,” he remarked weakly. “I hope they’ll kill the rascal when they catch him.” “I hope so, sir,” said Beeching. “You seem quite worn out, sir. Shall I serve something?” “You may bring the Scotch--quick--and don’t bother about the water. And, Beeching, if anyone calls I’m out!” By the time he had changed his clothes and eaten a belated luncheon it was three o’clock. From time to time mad honking on the highway announced the continuance of the search for Arabella. He had screwed his courage to the point of telephoning Senator Banning that Arabella had been seen near her father’s place on the previous night. His spirits sank when the Corydon exchange announced that the Banning phone was out of order. The chauffeur, seeing Farrington’s roadster on Main Street, telephoned from Corydon to know what disposition should be made of it, and Farrington ordered him to bring it home. He regained his self-respect as he smoked a cigar. He had met the issues of the night and day bravely; and if further adventures lay before him he felt confident that he would acquit himself well. And, in spite of the tricks she had played on him, Arabella danced brightly in his thoughts. He must find Arabella! He thrust the revolver he had captured from Gadsby into his pocket and drove resolutely toward the Bannings’.