“That you should have thought of me,” said Mr. Reeder. “It is very odd that people who lose people always come to me. And the young lady--she told you all this?” Dr. Ingham nodded. “Yes. She is naturally worried. It appears that she had a friend, a young man, who did exactly the same thing. Just walked out of his hotel and disappeared. There may be explanations, but it is very difficult to tell a young lady----” “Very,” Mr. Reeder coughed discreetly, and said “very” again. “She suggested that you should come to me?” The clergyman nodded. He appeared to be embarrassed by the nature of his mission. “To be exact, she wished to come herself--I thought it was a friendly thing to interview you on her behalf. I am not a poor man, Mr. Reeder; I am, in fact, rather a rich man, and I feel that I should render whatever assistance is possible to this poor young lady. My dear wife would, I am sure, heartily endorse my action--I have been married twenty-three years, and I have never found myself in disagreement with the partner of my joys and sorrows. You, as a married man----” “Single,” said Mr. Reeder, not without a certain amount of satisfaction. “Alas! Yes, I am--um--single.” He looked at his new client glumly. “The young lady is staying----” “In town, yes,” nodded the other. “At Haymarket Central Hotel. You will take this case?” Mr. Reeder pulled at his nose and fingered his close-clipped sidewhiskers. He settled his glasses on his nose and took them off again. “Which case?” he asked. Dr. Ingham was pained. “The case I have outlined.” He groped beneath his clerical coat and produced a card. “I have written Mr. Lance Ralph’s office address on the back of my card----” J.G. took the card and read its written inscription; turned it over and read the printed inscription. This gentleman was a doctor of divinity, and lived at Grayne Hall, near St. Margaret’s Bay, in the County of Kent. “There isn’t a case,” said Mr. Reeder with the tenderness of one who is breaking bad news. “People are entitled to--um--disappear. Quite a number of people, my dear Dr. Ingham, refuse to exercise that right, I am sorry to say. They disappear to Brighton, to Paris, but re-appear at later intervals. It is a common phenomenon.” The cleric looked at him anxiously, and passed his umbrella from one hand to the other. “Perhaps I haven’t told you everything that should have been told,” he said. “Miss Ralph had a fiancé--a young man in a prosperous business, as she tells me, who also vanished, leaving his partner----” “You are referring to Mr. Seafield?” But to his surprise, and perhaps to his annoyance, the clergyman showed no sign of amazement. “Joan has a great friend in your office. Am I right in surmising it is the young lady who opened the door to me? This is how your name came up. We were discussing whether she should go to the police, when she mentioned your name. I thought you were the least unpleasant alternative, if you don’t mind that description.”