"Mrs. Grey wrote. I got it by the post this morning. She would not trouble me to come over again, she said, as Illy patient had found himself obliged to leave last night. But I _have_ troubled myself to come," added the doctor, wrathfully, "and to see about it; for, of all mad acts, that man's getting up from his bed yesterday, and starting off by a shaking railway train was the maddest. Drive on, James." The groom touched the horse at the short command, and the animal sprang forward. Mr. Strange thought he would let the station alone for a bit, and loiter about where he was. This letter, written last night, to tell of the departure, somewhat complicated matters. A very short while, and the doctor came out again. Mr. Strange accosted him as he was about to step into his gig. "Well, Dr. Cavendish, have you seen your patient?" "No, I have not seen him," was the reply. "It is quite true that he is gone. I find he is embarking on a sea voyage, going off somewhere to the other end of the world, and he had to go up, or forfeit his passage-money." "They told you, then, what they told me. As, of course, they _would_," he added inwardly. "But there's something in it I don't altogether understand," resumed the doctor. "Not a syllable was spoken by the patient yesterday to denote that he was on the move, or that he had been on the move, even only to journey down from London. On the contrary, I gathered, or fancied I gathered, from the tenor of his remarks that he had been for some time stationary, and would be stationary for an indefinite period to come. It was when I spoke to him about the necessity of keeping himself quiet and free from exertion. What I don't understand is why he should not candidly have told me that he had this voyage before him." Mr. Strange did not answer. Various doubts were crowding upon him. _Had_ the man got away? in disguise, say? But no, he did not think it. "By the way, you did not tell me your name," said the doctor, as he took his seat in the gig. "My name! oh, did I not? My name is Tatton." Dr. Cavendish bent down his head and spoke in a low tone. His groom was adjusting the apron. "You hinted last night at some great trouble that this gentleman was in, Mr. Tatton. I have been wondering whether that has to do with this sudden departure--whether he had reasons for being afraid to stay?" "Just the question that has occurred to me, Dr. Cavendish," confessed the detective. "If he has gone away, it is fear that has driven him." The gig bowled onwards. Mr. Strange stood still as he looked after it: and had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Philip Smith smoking his long pipe at his own window, and regarding the landscape with equanimity. He went on the other way. "Good morning, Mr. Tatton." Mr. Tatton turned on his heel and saluted Sir Karl Andinnian, who had followed him up. There was a degree of suppressed indignation in Karl's face rarely seen.