He saw nothing more of Dick that night, and great was his chagrin the following day to see pasted on the door of Samuel Boyd's house in Catchpole Square the following notice: "Absent on business. All communications for Mr. Remington to be addressed to Inspector Robson." "He's cut and run," was Applebee's first thought. His second thought was that this was a move on Dick's part to put him off the scent. "But I'll be a match for him," he thought. "He's sure to come back, and the next time I lay hands on him off he goes with me to the station. I'll charge him, and chance it. The thing's as clear as mud. What a fool I was not to have seen it all before! Why did he keep hanging round Catchpole Square night after night while Samuel Boyd was laying dead in bed? Where did he go on the night of the great fog after I parted with him at three in the morning? He didn't keep in the streets all night, I'll take my oath on that. Where was he? Why, where else but in Samuel Boyd's house, packing up the things? He was clerk there once, and knows all the ins and outs of the place. Pond tells me he keeps his room locked, and that his missis is not allowed to go into it even to make the bed. What does he keep it shut up for? Is the property there? A search warrant would settle that, but as things stand there's no chance of my getting one. I shouldn't be surprised if he keeps the jewellery about him. It must be worth a heap of money. I asked Mrs. Pond this morning whether he slept there last night. No, he hadn't, nor the night before. He used to live with Inspector Robson, but he doesn't live there now. Then what has he been doing with himself of a night all this last week? I'll be hanged if I don't go to Mrs. Robson, and ask for him!" Screwing up his courage he presented himself at Aunt Rob's house, and his knock at the door was answered by that lady herself. "Is Mr. Dick Remington in?" he asked. "No, he isn't," replied Aunt Rob. "Can you tell me where to find him, Mrs. Robson?" "No, I can't." "Will he be back soon?" "I don't know." Applebee scratched his head; he had come to the end of his resources in that quarter. "Do you want him for anything particular?" inquired Aunt Rob, anxiously. "Not for anything very particular." "Perhaps you'll leave a message." "No, thank you," said Applebee, feeling as if he was being badgered, and repeated, "It's nothing very particular." Then he walked away. "They're all in a plot together," he mused. "I don't half like the way she answered me. She never took her eyes off my face. He's gone off to get rid of the jewellery. I'll keep my eye on Catchpole Square. There's a chance of his coming back for something he left behind. If he does, I'll nab him."