Mr. Carter jotted down some pencil-notes in his pocket-book while making this little summary of his conversation with the valet. Having done this and shut his book, he prowled slowly through the sitting-room, bed-room, and dressing-room, looking about him, with the servant close at his heels. "What clothes did Mr. Dunbar wear when he went away?" "Grey trousers and waistcoat, small shepherd's plaid, and he must have taken a greatcoat lined with Russian sable." "A black coat?" "No; the coat was dark blue cloth outside." Mr. Carter opened his pocket-book in order to add another memorandum— Trousers and waistcoat, shepherd's plaid; coat, dark blue cloth lined with sable. "How about Mr. Dunbar's personal appearance, eh?" The valet gave an elaborate description of his master's looks. "Ha!—humph!" muttered Mr. Carter; "tall, broad-shouldered, hook-nose, brown eyes, brown hair mixed with grey." The detective put on his hat after making this last memorandum: but he paused before the table, on which the lamp was still standing. "Was this lamp filled last night?" he asked. "Yes, sir; it was always fresh filled every day." "How long does it burn?" "Ten hours." "When was it lighted?" "A little before seven o'clock." Mr. Carter removed the glass shade, and carried the lamp to the fireplace. He held it up over the grate, and drained the oil. "It must have been burning till past four this morning," he said. The valet stared at Mr. Carter with something of that reverential horror with which he might have regarded a wizard of the middle ages. But Mr. Carter was in too much haste to be aware of the man's admiration. He had found out all he wanted to know, and now there was no time to be lost. He left the Abbey, ran back to the lodge, found his assistant, Mr. Tibbles, and despatched that gentleman to the Shorncliffe railway station, where he was to keep a sharp look out for a lame traveller in a blue cloth coat lined with brown fur. If such a traveller appeared, Sawney Tom was to stick to him wherever he went; but was to leave a note with the station-master for his chief's guidance, containing information as to what he had done. CHAPTER XLII. THE HOUSEMAID AT WOODBINE COTTAGE. In less than a quarter of an hour after leaving the gate of Maudesley Park, the fly came to a stand-still before Woodbine Cottage. Mr. Carter paid the man and dismissed the vehicle, and went alone into the little garden. He rang a bell on one side of the half-glass door, and had ample leisure to contemplate the stuffed birds and marine curiosities that adorned the little hall of the cottage before any one came to answer his summons. He rang a second time before anyone came, but after a delay of about five minutes a young woman appeared, with her face tied up in a coloured handkerchief. The detective asked to see Major Vernon, and the young woman ushered him into a little parlour at the back of the cottage, without either delay or hesitation.