Meanwhile Dollops had not been idle. He had set himself the stupendous task not only of discovering the murderer of Miss Cheyne, but what was more important to his sentimental heart, the finding of the young girl. Her face, as he had seen it once on that memorable day at Charing Cross Station, had so imprinted itself on his impressionable mind that it was little wonder that Sir Edgar Brenton spent many hours in the lad's company listening to his brief description of her again, and giving Dollops as clear a word picture of her as any lover could. "She is dead, the devils have killed her!" he would say in despair, but this theory Dollops refused to accept at any price. "Not 'arf they ain't, Sir Edgar, and don't you go fer to believe it," he would say, when the two paced up and down watching the grim old house that would have told them so much could it have had human powers of speech. "Don't you forgit, murder's an 'anging business, and a mighty uncomfortable sort of business, too, I should imagine. No, sir, 'er ladyship's 'id away snug and tight, mark my words, till it's safe to let 'er go, and it's up to _us_ to find 'er. For all Mr. Narkom thinks of is them blessed jewels, beggin 'is pardon." "Yes, and the other one, the Headland chap, is just as bad; not a single effort made to trace my dear girl, only that blessed Purple Emperor. As if it were worth a hair of her precious head!" stormed Sir Edgar. Dollops switched round upon his heel and looked up into the angry countenance. "Steady on there, sir. Not a word against Mr.--er Headland," said he with a touch of asperity in his cockney tones. "He's my boss, and the finest, cleverest chap wot ever breathed, an' if 'e's made up his mind to find the Emperor, purple or pink, then 'e's quite right, and you may depend on it he hasn't forgotten Lady Margaret." Then Dollops went on his own tack, leaving Sir Edgar to enjoy his own bitter reflections as best he might. "Not but wot 'e's all wrong though, bless 'is 'eart," said Dollops, when he was safely by himself, "for if that precious Miss Wynne ain't at the bottom of it then I'll eat my 'ead, 'at and all." He was still indignant that Cleek had apparently taken such little notice of his staggering discovery and capture as she climbed through the window on the night of the murder, and he had persistently dogged her footsteps ever since. But for the time being he was keeping a strict eye on the movements of Cleek himself, and having seen him safely into the house, he took up his position, squatting in the shadow of the huge overgrown laurel bushes, prepared to wait till nightfall, if need be, for such time as his master should emerge.