"Mr. Heathcote may think it my fault," she said. "I have telegraphed to him; but there has been no answer yet." "Do you know where Miss Heathcote was going when she left this house?" "I haven't the faintest idea. All I know is what the boy told me. I have tried to make the best of things to the servants, for I don't want them to suppose that Hilda was running away; but they must have their own ideas about it, knowing as they do that she was going to be married next Tuesday." "Never mind the servants," said Bothwell impatiently. "Let them think what they please. But have you no idea where she would be likely to go--to what friend, in what direction? She cannot have so many friends from whom to choose in such a crisis. She would go to the house where she was most sure of a welcome, where she would know that her secret would be kept. What friends has she in Plymouth?" "None. She never went to Plymouth except for shopping, sight-seeing, concerts, or something in that way, with her brother, or with me. She knows no one in Plymouth except her old singing mistress." "She may have gone to her," said Bothwell eagerly. "Hardly likely. Mdlle. Duprez lives in two rooms. Hilda would scarcely ask for hospitality there." "I don't know. She is very fond of Mdlle. Duprez. I have heard her say so. That is a clue, at any rate. I shall go to Mdlle. Duprez this afternoon. I must walk across to Penmorval and see my cousin first. She may know more of Hilda's plans than you do." "That is very likely. Mrs. Wyllard is Hilda's most intimate friend." "There was a lady came to call upon Miss Heathcote a few days ago," said Bothwell. "Did you happen to see that lady?" "I did not," answered the Fräulein, looking at him curiously. "Yet I can but think that lady had something to do with Hilda's strange conduct. She is an old friend of yours, I believe--Lady Valeria Harborough." "Yes, I have known her for some years. Was she long with Hilda?" "She was closeted with her for at least an hour, and from that time to this I have not seen Hilda's face. She went to her room soon after Lady Valeria left. She excused herself from appearing at dinner on account of a headache, and when I went to her door later in the evening she refused to let me in, and I could hear from her voice that she had been crying. I went to her room again at seven o'clock next morning, for my mind had been uneasy about her all night; but she was gone. I found two letters, one for Mr. Heathcote, and one for me." "Would you be kind enough to show me the letter she wrote to you?" The Fräulein reflected for a few moments, being an eminently cautious person, and then produced Hilda's note from her pocket-book. "I do not think there can be any harm in showing it to you," she said. "There is so little in it." The letter ran thus: