I told him of Miss Holladay's disappearance; he pondered over it a moment with grave face. "This strengthens my belief that she is suffering with dementia," he said. "Sudden aversion to relatives and friends is one of its most common symptoms. Of course, she must be found." "I'm going to find her," I assured him, with perhaps a little more confidence than I really felt. "Well, remember to call on me if I can help you. But first of all, go home and sleep for ten hours--twelve, if you can. Mind, no work before that--no building of theories. You'll be so much the fresher to-morrow." I recognized the wisdom of this advice, but I had one thing to do first. I took a cab and drove to the nearest telegraph office. There I sent an imperative message to Brooks, the Holladay coachman, telling him to return to New York by the first train, and report to me at the office. That done, I gave the driver my address and settled back in the seat. No building of theories, Jenkinson had said; yet it was difficult to keep the brain idle. Where was Frances Holladay? Why had she fled? Was she really mentally deranged? Had the weight of the secret proved too great for her? Or had she merely fallen under the influence of the woman who was guilty? Supposing she was insane, what should we do with her when we found her? How could we control her? And, supposing she were not insane, what legal right had we to interfere with her? These and a hundred other questions crowded upon me, till thought failed, and I lay back confused, indifferent---- "Here we are, sir," said the driver, jumping down from his seat and jerking open the door. I paid him, and went stumblingly up the steps. I have no doubt he was grinning behind me. As I fumbled with my key, someone opened the door from the inside. "Why, Mistair Lester!" exclaimed Martigny's voice. "What is it? You have no illness, I hope!" "No," I murmured, "I'm just dead tired," and I started blindly for the stair. "Let me assist you," and he took my arm and helped me up; then went on ahead, opened my door, and lighted the gas. "Thanks," I said, as I dropped into a chair. He sat quietly down opposite me, and, weary as I was, I was conscious of his keen eyes upon me. "We heard from Miss Holladay this morning," I remarked, unconsciously answering their question. He did not reply for a moment, but I had closed my eyes again, and I was too tired to open them and look at him. "Ah," he said, in a voice a little hoarse; "and she is well?" "No; she's disappeared." "You mean----" "I mean she's run away," I said, waking up a little. "And she has informed you----" "Oh, no; we've just found it out. She's been gone ten days." "And you are going to search for her?" he questioned carelessly, after another pause. "Yes--I'll begin in the morning." Again there was a moment's silence. "Ah!" he said, with a curious intensity. "Ah." Then he arose and left me to tumble incontinently into bed. CHAPTER XI I Unmask My Enemy