"Lady Lethmere, this is all too amazing. I had no idea that Roseye was missing," I said. "Sir Herbert has not returned, I suppose?" "No. I expect him to-morrow. I have not yet sent him word. But I must say I am now getting most anxious." "Of course," I said. "We have to remember that to-day is Sunday, and that few telegraph offices are open." "Yet there is always the telephone," Lady Lethmere said. I argued that, in many country places, the telephone service was not available on Sundays and, though I felt intensely anxious, I endeavoured to regard the matter with cheerful optimism. I saw, however, that Lady Lethmere, a good, kindly and most charming woman, who had ever been genuinely friendly towards me, was greatly perturbed regarding her daughter's whereabouts. And surely not without cause. Roseye had left that house at eleven o'clock on the previous morning--dressed as usual in a navy-blue gaberdine coat and skirt, with her skunk boa and muff, intending to change later on into her Burberry flying-suit which she kept at Hendon. From the moment when she had closed the front door behind her, she had vanished into space. Such was the enigma with which I--her lover--was at that moment faced. I ask you, my reader, to place yourself for a moment in my position, and to put to yourself the problem. How would you have acted? Would you have suspected, as I suspected, the sinister and deadly touch of the Invisible Hand? CHAPTER TEN. THE TUNNEL MYSTERY. I went back to my rooms in Shaftesbury Avenue and, in consequence of my telephone message, Teddy came and threw himself in the chair opposite me half an hour later, to discuss the curious disappearance of my well-beloved. Teddy suggested that we should report the occurrence to the police, and give them Roseye's photograph, but I was averse to this course. I pointed out that, in all probability, she was with friends somewhere, and that Monday morning would bring me a letter from her. Well--Monday morning came. Eagerly I went through my correspondence, but there was no word from her, either to her mother or to myself. It was only then that I began to be really anxious, and at noon I went down to Scotland Yard and there, in the cold waiting-room, stated exactly what had occurred. The inspector, when he looked at the photograph I produced, exclaimed: "Ah, sir. I've often seen Miss Lethmere's picture in the papers. Why, she's the famous flying-lady--isn't she?" I replied in the affirmative, and explained how she had left her home in Cadogan Gardens to go to Hendon to meet me. "I see. She was lost sight of between Cadogan Gardens and Hendon," he exclaimed, adding a memorandum to what he had already written down. "Well, sir," he said. "We'll do our best, of course. But--you don't think Miss Lethmere has disappeared intentionally--eh?" And he looked at me inquiringly with his dark, serious eyes. "Intentionally! No--why?"