"There, then, you have something sensible to do; better than always calling here in your speculative way. Go to work at once, and come and communicate with me." Guest went off at once, and had himself driven to Benchers' Inn, where he ascended to Stratton's door, but turned off to Brettison's, where all was dark and silent. He knocked, but there was no answer; and, after repeating the knock several times, he went to Stratton's door, where he had no better success. Going down, he crossed to the tunnel-like archway, where he found Mrs Brade, and learned that Mr Brettison had not yet returned from the country. "Mr Stratton does not seem to be at home either." "No, sir. He goes out a deal now, and is very seldom at home. Many people come to ask for him, and I give them his message--that they are to write." "Well, that's reasonable enough if they have not made appointments, Mrs Brade, so pray don't shake your head like that." "Certainly not, sir, if you don't wish it, but I can't help thinking he'd be better not left alone." "Why?" said Guest impetuously, Mrs Brade tapped her forehead, and Guest frowned angrily. "Nonsense, my good woman," he cried; "don't exaggerate, and pray don't jump at conclusions. Mr Stratton is no more mad than you are." "That ain't saying much, mister," cried the porter from the next room, where he was making up for late hours consequent upon sitting up for occupants of the inn. "My missus is as mad as a hatter." Mrs Brade darted to the door and closed it with a heavy bang, following it up by snatching, more than drawing the curtain over the opening--a curtain originally placed there to keep off draughts, but so used by Mrs Brade as to give the onlooker the idea that her husband was a personage kept on exhibition, and not shown save as a favour and for money paid. "I don't know what I could be thinking of to marry such a man, sir," she said indignantly. "Mad, indeed! Not mad enough to take more than's good for me, and pretty often, too." "A lesson for you, Mrs Brade," said Guest sternly, "You cannot make a more painful or dangerous assertion about a person than to say that a person or personage is mad." CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. WALKING IN THE DARK. Disappointed in his visit to the inn, Guest went back to his own chambers, where his first act on reaching his room, with its lookout over the old rookery, was to take out his pocketbook, and carefully examine a photograph--a proof intrusted to his care that day--and which he instantly pressed to his lips several times before restoring it to its envelope, and returning it to his breast. His next proceeding was to light his pipe, lie back, and think over Miss Jerrold's words; and the more he thought over them the more they seemed to fit with the situation. One thought begat another till he grew startled at the growth emanating from Miss Jerrold's suggestion.