“Oh, my lord! ring the bell! summon the people of the inn, and question them,” said the old clergyman, eagerly moving toward the bell-rope. “Stay—do not ring yet; to examine these people should be our last resort; from appearances here, and from other circumstances, I doubt if they know any thing about her flight. And if they do not, I prefer not to enlighten them. Let us go down.” They left the room, locking the door, and withdrawing the key. When they had reached the parlor, Lord Montressor said: “Make no stir; create no excitement; leave the people of the inn to suppose, as they naturally will do, that Lady Montressor has left with your knowledge and consent. I will tell you how we may manage, without exciting their suspicion, to get information from them. Ring, and call for your bill up to this present hour, as if you were about to leave, which I suppose you will do in the course of the day. When the account is presented, note its _last items_. See if there is supper, a post-chaise, a messenger, or a porter, charged last night for Lady Montressor. If so, you can cavil at these items, and so, by disputing a little, get the whole facts, as far as they may be known here—whether she took supper, whether she procured a conveyance from the house, at what hour she went, and whither—and all without attracting particular attention.” “I see, I see,” exclaimed the old man, pulling the bell-rope so vigorously that it was speedily answered by a waiter, who was directed to bring up Mr. Oldfield’s account. When, a few minutes after, the man reappeared, and presented the bill, Mr. Oldfield took it and glanced down its columns: supper for Lady Montressor was the last item. “Hum-m—hum-m—hum-m” said the old gentleman, in the tone of one taking exception—“I think there is some mistake here; I think her ladyship did not take supper.” “Yes, please your reverence, I carried it up,” replied the waiter. “Hum-m—it must have been very late when you carried it up—as you say,” said Mr. Oldfield, with the manner of a man who won’t be imposed upon. “Yes, please zir—at ten o’clock,” replied the man. “Hum-m. You have not charged the post-chaise, I see!” “There wasn’t no po’shay ordered, for no one here, please zir.” “Ah, yes, I—you are right—(the old man was about to say, “I _recollect_—you are right,” but arrested himself before telling an untruth)—yes, you are right! Lady Montressor went away in a cab.” A few more adroitly put questions resulted in nothing satisfactory. The bill was paid, and the waiter, with a small donation, dismissed. “She _must_ have gone away in a cab, you know; so I told no untruth about _that_,” said Mr. Oldfield, uneasy upon the subject of his little duplicity. “These, then, are the facts as far as we know them—simply, that she took supper, rested awhile, wrote a letter, and, attended by her maid, left the house after ten o’clock. Now, the question is, _Whither_ did she go?”