"I am more than grieved to distress you at such a time. Miss Monkton, but the sooner we get on the track of this mystery the better. Will you tell me, as briefly as you like, and in your own time, what you know of your father's habits?" In tones that broke now and then from her deep emotion, Sheila imparted the information he asked for. She laid especial emphasis on the fact that, before leaving home in the evening, he outlined to her the programme of his movements. If anything happened that altered his plans he invariably telephoned to her, or sent a letter by special messenger. The keen-eyed detective listened attentively to her recital. "Can you recall any occasion on which he failed to notify you?" he asked when she had finished. "No," she answered firmly. Then she recollected. "Stay! There was one occasion. He was walking home from the House on a foggy night, and was knocked down by a taxi, and slightly injured. They took him to a hospital, and I was telephoned from there, and went to him." A gleam of hope shone in Austin's eyes. "We never thought of that." The great detective shook his head. "But _we_ thought of it, Mr Wingate. My friend here has had every hospital in the radius rung up. No solution there." There was silence for a long time. It seemed that the last hope had vanished. Smeaton stood for a long time lost in thought. Then he roused himself from his reverie. "It's no use blinking the fact that we are confronted with a more than usually difficult case," he said, at length. "Still, it is our business to solve problems, and we shall put our keenest wits to work. I wish it were possible, for Miss Monkton's sake, to keep it from the Press." "But would that be impossible?" cried Wingate. "I fear so. If a little servant-maid disappears from her native village, the newspaper-men get hold of it in twenty-four hours. Here, instead of an obscure little domestic, you have a man, popular, well-known to half the population of England, whose portrait has been in every illustrated paper in the three Kingdoms. I fear it would be impossible. But I will do my best. The Home Secretary may give certain instructions in this case." Then turning to Sheila he said: "Good-night, Miss Monkton. Rely upon it, we will leave no stone unturned to find your father, and bring him back to you." He was gone with those comforting words. But with his departure, hope seemed to die away, and Sheila was left to confront the misery of the present. The faithful Grant, who had been hovering in the background, came forward, and spoke to her in the coaxing tone he had used when she was a child. "Now, Miss Sheila, you must go and rest." "Oh, no!" she cried wildly. "What is the use of resting? I could not sleep. I can never rest until father comes back to me." She broke into a low wail of despair. Grant looked at Wingate, with a glance that implored him to use his influence. The faithful old man feared for her reason.