‘I hope not too. But I’ve thought it.’ Mr Parkes shook his head gravely. ‘And what’s more,’ he went on after a few moments, ‘keeping this idea in view, I doubt if our search was sufficiently comprehensive. If Sir William had fallen behind a piece of furniture we might not have seen him.’ ‘We could go round again, Mr Parkes, if you think that.’ This proposition appealing favourably to the butler, a second and more thorough search was made. But it was as fruitless as before. There was no trace of Sir William. And then the valet made a discovery. Off the passage leading to the library was a small cloak-room. Innes, who had looked into the latter, now returned to the butler. ‘He’s gone out, Mr Parkes. A soft felt hat and his loose black cape are missing out of the cloakroom.’ ‘Gone out, is he? That’s not like him either. Are you sure of that?’ ‘Certain. I saw the coat and hat no longer ago than this evening just before dinner. They were hanging in that room then. They’re gone now.’ The passage in which they were standing, and off which opened the smoking room, library, billiard room and this cloakroom, ran on past the doors of these rooms, and ended in a small conservatory, from which an outer door led into the grounds. The two men walked to this door and tried it. It was closed, but not fastened. ‘He’s gone out sure enough,’ said Parkes. ‘I locked that door myself when I went round after dinner.’ They stepped outside. The night was fine, but very dark. There was no moon, and the sky was overcast. A faint air was stirring, but hardly enough to move the leaves. Everything was very still, except for the low, muffled roar of the Cranshaw waterfall, some half mile or more away. ‘I expect he’s stepped over to Hawksworth’s,’ said Parkes at last. ‘He sometimes drops in of an evening. But he’s never been so late as this.’ ‘Maybe there’s a party of some kind on, and when he turned up they’ve had him stay.’ ‘It may be,’ Parkes admitted. ‘We may as well go in anyway.’ They returned to the butler’s room, and resumed their interrupted discussion. Twelve struck, then half-past, then one. Innes yawned. ‘I wouldn’t mind how soon I went to bed, Mr Parkes. What do you feel like?’ ‘I don’t feel sleepy,’ the other returned, and then, after a pause: ‘I don’t mind confessing I am not quite easy about Sir William. I would be glad he had returned.’ ‘You’re afraid—of what you were saying?’ ‘I am. I don’t deny it. I feel apprehensive.’ ‘Supposing we were to get a couple of lanterns and have a walk round outside?’ The butler considered this suggestion. ‘I am of opinion better not,’ he said at last. ‘If Sir William found us so engaged, he would be very annoyed.’ ‘Maybe you’re right, Mr Parkes. What do you suggest?’ ‘I think we had better wait as we are a while longer. Take another cigar, and make yourself comfortable.’