The man touched his hat. He was used to these excursions and was possessed of the patience of his class. He backed the victoria on to the moor by the side of the fence which surrounded the house. There was a little stable at the back, but it was never used. He unharnessed the horse, fixed his nosebag, and sat down to read his favourite newspaper; a little journal which dealt familiarly with the erratic conduct of the upper classes. He was not a quick reader, and there was sufficient in the gossipy journal to occupy his attention for three or four hours. At the end of an hour he thought he heard his lady's voice calling him, and jumping up, he walked to the door of the cottage. He listened, but there was no other sound, and he came back to his previous position, and continued his study of the decadent aristocracy. Four hours he waited, and assailed by a most human hunger, his patience was pardonably exhausted. He rose slowly, harnessed the horse, and drove the victoria ostentatiously before the window of the little sitting-room which Lady Constance Dex used as a study. Another half an hour passed without any response, and he got down from his box and knocked at the door. There was no answer; he knocked again; still no reply. In alarm he went to the window and peered in. The floor was strewn with papers scattered in confusion. A chair had been overturned. More to the point, he saw an overturned inkpot, which was eloquent to his ordered mind of an unusual happening. Increasingly alarmed, he put his shoulder to the door, but it did not yield. He tried the window; it was locked. It was at that moment that a motor came swiftly over the hill from the direction of the rectory. With a jar it came to a sudden stop before the house, and T. B. Smith leapt out. Brown had seen the detective before on his visits to the rectory, and now hailed him as veritably god-sent. "Where is Lady Constance?" asked T. B., quickly. The man pointed to the house with trembling finger. "She's in there somewhere," he said, fretfully, "but I can't make her answer ... and the room appears to be very disordered." He led the way to the window. T. B. looked in and saw that which confirmed his worst fears. "Stand back," he said. He raised his ebony stick and sent it smashing through the glass. In a second his hand was inside unlocking the latch of the window; a few seconds later he was in the room itself. He passed swiftly from room to room, but there was no sign of Lady Constance. On the floor of the study was a piece of lace collar, evidently wrenched from her gown. "Hullo!" said Ela, who had followed him. He pointed to the table. On a sheet of paper was the print of a bloody palm. "Farrington," said T. B., briefly, "he has been here; but how did he get out?" He questioned the coachman closely, but the man was emphatic.