“It can’t be done, Mr. Gilder,” he said almost cheerfully. “Just now I’m a combination of the Earl of Chelford and the family doctor. In other words, I’m in charge during Mr. Alford’s absence. If you care to wait until he comes back, the drawing-room is at your disposal, but you understand, Mr. Gilder, that you are not in any circumstances to question the servants. I am a great admirer of amateur detectives in my leisure moments, but this is one of my busy days and I can’t afford to have any interference in this case, however well meant it may be.” Gilder had to accept this invitation. He was determined not to leave the house until he had learned the truth about Leslie Gwyn. The detective conducted him to the drawing-room, the long windows of which were open. “I’ll ask you not to leave here until Mr. Alford arrives,” he said. “If you require anything, perhaps you will ring?” And, seeing the light in Gilder’s eyes, he added: “One of my men, who is a first-class footman, will attend to you.” He had not long to wait, as it happened. Dick, who had torn up to town, breaking every speed rule, and so intent upon the object of his visit that he had forgotten even that he had put the bag in the boot, was lucky enough to get through with his interview in a quarter of an hour. It was a very important interview: one on which his own future very largely depended; and there were too many things to think about for him to give a thought to the bag and its contents. His car, white with dust, sped up the drive and came to a halt in the wide space before the porch. He identified the other car and recognized it as the machine that had nearly brought about a nasty accident that morning. “Gilder, is it?” he said, as he got down. “Gilder it is, and full of interrogation marks. You saw the secretary?” Dick nodded. “Yes. He was very kind, but rather vague. He has given me twelve hours to find Harry, dead or alive.” “Did you tell him about Miss Gwyn?” “He wasn’t even interested,” said Dick, with a hard laugh. “Harry, the estate, the title--everything except Leslie! That was the burden of his conversation. In twelve hours I must find him--and believe me, Puttler, in twelve hours I will!” He went into the drawing-room and greeted Gilder curtly. “You wanted to see me?” “I wanted to know what has happened to Leslie Gwyn,” said Gilder. “I wish to God I knew!” said Dick. The man stared at him. “Nothing bad has happened?” he asked in a low voice, and Dick forgave him everything for the sincerity of his concern. “I’m afraid it is something very unpleasant,” he said, and told the story. As he did so, he saw the man’s face change and a sceptical smile curved his lips. “I’ve got something to say to you, and I’d like to say it before a witness, Alford.”