"It would take too long to explain," I said, "and then you might not understand. We are going out soon, and you may as well come with us. It would not be safe, perhaps, to leave you here alone." Bob and I had debated the advisability of sending Sophy back to London, and had agreed to keep her with us, at least for a time, as there was a likelihood of her being useful. Our first task when we sallied forth was to endeavor to obtain some information of M. Bordier, but in this we were unsuccessful. Not a person of whom we inquired could give us the slightest satisfaction, and we were reluctantly compelled to abandon our quest. I discussed with Bob whether I should write an account of what had occurred to Emilia, and we decided I should not do so. It would take too long to give her a description of all circumstances, and anything short of a full description would only agitate her. Then, in all probability, M. Bordier had returned to London, and had seen her. I dispatched a telegram to her, to the effect that if she had anything of importance to communicate to us she had better do so by telegraph. This done we walked to Tylney House. Our search for M. Bordier had occupied us three or four hours, and when we reached the gloomy-looking building it was two o'clock. To our surprise, the gate was open. Without hesitation we entered the grounds, and there we saw a van, and three men piling furniture on it. This furniture was of the commonest kind, and the men appeared to be in a hurry. We looked at each other in amazement. What did it all mean? "A break-up, I should say," suggested Bob. "Peterssen giving up business." "There's Crawley, the keeper," whispered Sophy, pulling my coat. The man had lounged from the house, and was regarding the removal of the furniture with dissatisfaction. Bob stepped to his side and we followed. "Hallo, Maria," said Crawley; "you've been up to some fine tricks, you have. But I'm hanged if I can make head or tail of it." Bob motioned to Sophy not to speak. "Have you two gentlemen come on business?" continued Crawley. "Well, you've come too late. The brokers are in, and we're sold up." "Then we cannot see Dr. Peterssen," I said. "No, you can't," replied Crawley. "He's gone for good." "I owe you," said Bob, in a bland voice, "ten shillings. Here's the money. Do you want to earn a ten-pound note, which might swell into fifty? There's a gentleman friend of ours who would stand that, and more perhaps, for services rendered." "What kind of services?" inquired Crawley, pocketing the ten shillings. "Information. Truthful and accurate information. The ten pound note sure. That much we guarantee, and wouldn't mind giving half on account. The fifty-pound almost as sure. Here, let me speak to you aside." They walked a little way from us, and I did not interrupt their conversation, which lasted some twenty minutes. At the end of that time Bob left Crawley to say a few words to me.