I ran to my room, obtained a cap and boots, and, returning, passed through the open window, descending by the ladder to the terrace. Around the house I dashed like a madman, and down the drive towards the lodge-gates, halting suddenly now and then with my ear to the wind, eager to distinguish any sound of movement. I was utterly without clue to guide me as to the direction the fugitives had taken. Four or five roads and paths led from the house, in various directions, to Atworth village, to Corsham, and to Lacock, while one byway through the wood led out upon the old high-road to, Bath. The latter went straight into a dark copse at the rear of the house, and would afford ample concealment for any one wishing to get away unobserved. All the other roads cut across the park, and any one travelling along them would be visible for some distance. Therefore, I started down the byway in question, entering the wood and traversing it as noiselessly as I could, and emerged at last into the broad, white high-road which I knew so well, having cycled and driven over it dozens of times. I calculated that the fugitives had about ten to twelve minutes' start, and if they had really taken the road, I must be close upon them. The road ascended steadily all the way from the Wormwood Farm to Kingsdown, yet I slackened not my pace until I gained the crest of the hill. The moon had come out from behind the clouds, and the night was so light that any object upon that white open road could be seen for a long distance. Having gained the hilltop at the junction of the road to Wraxall, I stood and strained my eyes down both highways, but to my disappointment saw no one. Either I had passed them while they had hidden themselves in the wood, or I had mistaken the direction they had taken. The presence in the house of that sinister woman in black, her mode of exit, and the startling fact that Beryl was missing, had, I think, unnerved me. As I stood reflecting I regretted that I had relied too much upon my own strategy, and had not aroused the household. In my constant efforts to preserve the secret of my well-beloved I had made a fatal mistake. My mind had become confused by these constantly recurring mysteries. As a medical man I knew that all mental troubles involve diseases of the brain. The more complex troubles, such as my own at that moment, are still wrapped in obscurity. To the psychologist there are, of course, certain guiding principles through the maze of facts which constitute the science of the mind; but, after all, he knows practically nothing about the laws which govern the influence of mind over body. I had acted foolishly and impulsively. Both the women had fled.