"Where did she write from?" Jaffery asked eagerly. "Nowhere in particular," said the provoking lady. "But the postmark on the envelope." She had not looked at the postmark and the envelope had been destroyed. "Then where is she?" I asked. "At Southampton, you idiot," said Jaffery. "Let us get there at once." So after a visit to my bankers--for I am not the kind of person to set out for Santa Fé de Bogotà with twopence halfpenny in my pocket--and after a hasty lunch at a restaurant, much to Jaffery's impatient disgust--"Why the dickens," cried he, "did I order a big breakfast if we're to fool about wasting time over lunch?"--but as I explained, if I don't have regular meals, I get a headache--and after having made other sane preparations for a journey, including the purchase of a toothbrush, an indispensable toilet adjunct, which Franklin, admirable fellow that he is, invariably forgets to put into my case, we started for Southampton. And along the jolly Portsmouth Road we went, through Guildford, along the Hog's Back, over the Surrey Downs rolling warm in the sunshine, through Farnham, through grey, dreamy Winchester, past St. Cross, with its old-world almshouse, through Otterbourne and up the hill and down to Southampton, seventy-eight miles, in two hours and a quarter. Jaffery drove. We began our search. First we examined the playbills at the various places of entertainment. Ras Fendihook was not playing in Southampton. We went round the hotels, the South-Western, the Royal, the Star, the Dolphin, the Polygon--and found no trace of the runaways. Jaffery interviewed officials at the stations and docks, dapper gentlemen with the air of diplomatists, tremendous fellows in uniform, policemen, porters, with all of whom he seemed to be on terms of familiar acquaintance; but none of them could trace or remember such a couple having crossed by the midnight boats of Thursday or Friday. Nor were their names down on the list of those who had secured berths in advance for this Saturday night. "You're rather at fault," said I, rather maliciously, not displeased at my masterful friend's failure. "Not a bit," said he. "Fendihook's leaving on Sunday certainly means that he was starting to fulfill a provincial engagement on Monday. If it was a week's engagement, he crosses to-night. We've only to wait and catch them. If it was a three nights' engagement, which is possible, he and Liosha crossed on Thursday night. In that case we'll cross ourselves and track them down." "Even if we have to go over the Andes and far away," I murmured. "Even so," said he. "Now listen. If he's had a week's engagement he must be finishing to-night. In order to catch the boat he must be working in the neighbourhood. Savvy? The only possible place besides this is Portsmouth. We'll run over to Portsmouth, only seventeen miles."