Elk scratched his chin, avoiding Dick’s eyes. “A lot of young people like getting up early,” he said. “When I was a young man, nothing gave me greater pleasure than to see the sun rise—before I went to bed. Is she in the habit of taking a morning stroll?” John Bennett shook his head. “I’ve never known her to do that before. It’s curious I did not hear her, because I slept very badly last night. Will you excuse me, gentlemen?” He went upstairs and came down in a few minutes, dressed. Together they passed out into the garden. It was now quite light, though the sun had not yet tipped the horizon. John Bennett made a brief but fruitless search of the ground behind the cottage, and came back to them with a confession of failure. He was no more troubled than Dick Gordon. It was impossible that it could have been she, that Elk was mistaken. Yet Lola had been emphatic. Against that, the hall-porter at Caverley House had been equally certain that the only visitor to Lola’s flat that night was the aged Mr. Maitland; and so far as he knew, or Elk had been able to discover, there was no other entrance into the building. “I see you have a car here. You came down by road. Did you pass anybody?” Dick shook his head. “Do you mind if we take the car in the opposite direction toward Shoreham?” “I was going to suggest that,” said Gordon. “Isn’t it rather dangerous for her, walking at this hour? The roads are thronged with tramps.” The older man made no reply. He sat with the driver, his eyes fixed anxiously upon the road ahead. The car went ten miles at express speed, then turned, and began a search of the side roads. Nearing the cottage again, Dick pointed. “What is that wood?” he asked pointing to a dense wood to which a narrow road led. “That is Elsham Wood; she wouldn’t go there,” he hesitated. “Let us try it,” said Dick, and the bonnet of the car was turned on to a narrow road. In a few minutes they were running through a glade of high trees, the entwining tops of which made the road a place of gloom. “There are car tracks here,” said Dick suddenly, but John Bennett shook his head. “People come here for picnics,” he said, but Dick was not satisfied. These marks were new, and presently he saw them turn off the road to a ‘ride’ between the trees. He caught no glimpse of a car, however. The direction of the tracks supported the old man’s theory. The road ended a mile farther along, and beyond that was a waste of bracken and tree stumps, for the wood had been extensively thinned during the war. With some difficulty the car was turned and headed back again. They came through the glade into the open, and then Dick uttered a cry. John Bennett had already seen the girl. She was walking quickly in the centre of the road, and stepped on to the grassy border without looking round as the car came abreast of her. Then, looking up, she saw her father, and went pale. He was in the road in a moment.