‘“Early to bed, early to rise,”’ quoted the valet. ‘There’s no accounting for tastes, Mr Parkes. I’d like to see you or me going to bed at ten-thirty and getting up at six when we needn’t.’ ‘I don’t hold with unnecessarily early hours myself,’ the other agreed, and then, after a pause: ‘I think I’ll go and see if he wants anything. It’s not like him to retire without having his punch.’ ‘Whatever you think, Mr Parkes, but for me, I could do here well enough for another hour or more.’ Without replying, Parkes left the room. Reaching the library door, he knocked discreetly and then entered. The electric lights were switched on and everything looked as usual, but the room was empty. The butler moved on, and opening a door which led to the smoking room, passed in. The lights were off here, as they were also in the billiard room, which he next visited. ‘He must have gone up to bed,’ thought Parkes, and returning to his room, spoke to Innes. ‘I can’t find Sir William about anywhere below stairs, and he hasn’t had his punch. I wish you’d have a look whether he hasn’t gone to bed.’ The valet left the room. ‘He’s not upstairs, Mr Parkes,’ he said, returning a few moments later. ‘And he’s not been either so far as I can see. The lights are off and nothing’s been touched.’ ‘But where is he? He’s never been so late ringing for his punch before.’ ‘I’m blessed if I know. Maybe, Mr Parkes, we should have another look round?’ ‘It might be as well.’ The two men returned to the library. It was still empty, and they decided to make a tour of the lower rooms. In each they switched on the lights and had a look round, but without result. Sir William had disappeared. ‘Come upstairs,’ said Parkes. They repeated their search through music room, bedrooms, dressing-rooms, and passages, but all to no purpose. They could find no trace of their master. Mr Parkes was slightly perturbed. An idea had recurred to him which had entered his mind on various previous occasions. He glanced inquiringly at the valet, as if uncertain whether or not to unburden his mind. Finally he said in a low tone: ‘Has it ever struck you, Innes, that Sir William was apoplectic?’ ‘Apoplectic?’ returned the other. ‘Why, no, I don’t think it has.’ ‘Well, it has me, and more than once. If he’s annoyed he gets that red. I’ve thought to myself when he has got into a temper about something, “Maybe,” I’ve thought, “maybe some of these days you’ll pop off in a fit if you’re not careful.”’ ‘You don’t say, Mr Parkes,’ exclaimed Innes, in a tone of thrilled interest. ‘I do. I’ve thought it. And I’ve thought too,’ the butler went on impressively, ‘that maybe something like this would happen: that we’d miss him, and go and look, and find him lying somewhere unconscious.’ ‘Bless my soul, Mr Parkes, I hope not.’