He thought of Potts. He knew that this wretch was capable of any villainy, and would not hesitate at any thing to regain possession of the one who had fled from him. Why he should wish to take the trouble to regain possession of her, except out of pure villainy, he could not imagine. With such thoughts as these the time passed heavily. Six o’clock at last came, and he set out for the purpose of making inquiries. He went first to the theatre. Here, after some trouble, he found those who had the place in charge, and, by questioning them, he learned that Beatrice had left by herself in a cab for her home, and that Langhetti had remained some time later. He then went to Beatrice’s lodgings to question the landlady. From there he went to Langhetti’s lodgings, and found that Langhetti had come home about one o’clock and was not yet up. Beatrice, therefore, had left by herself; and had not gone any where with Langhetti. She had not returned home. It seemed to him most probable that either voluntarily or involuntarily she had come under the control of Potts. What to do under the circumstances was now the question. One course seemed to him the most direct and certain; namely, to go up to Brandon at once and make inquiries there. From the letters which Philips had sent he had an idea of the doings of Potts. Other sources of information had also been secured. It was not his business to do any thing more than to see that Beatrice should fall into no harm. By ten o’clock he had acted upon this idea, and was at the railway station to take the express train. He reached Brandon village about dusk. He went to the inn in his usual disguise as Mr. Smithers, and sent up to the Hall for Mr. Potts. Potts was not there. He then sent for Philips. After some delay Philips came. His usual timidity was now if possible still more marked, and he was at first too embarrassed to speak. “Where is Potts?” asked Brandon, abruptly. “In London, Sir.” “He has been there about three weeks, hasn’t he?” “Yes, Sir.” “So you wrote me. You thought when he went that he was going to hunt up his daughter.” “So I conjectured.” “And he hasn’t got back yet?” “Not yet.” “Has he written any word?” “None that I know of.” “Did you hear any of them say why he went to get her?” “Not particularly; but I guessed from what they said that he was afraid of having her at large.” “Afraid? Why?” “Because she knew some secret of theirs.” “Secret! What secret?” asked Brandon. “You know, Sir, I suppose,” said Philips, meekly. Brandon had carried Asgeelo with him, as he was often in the habit of doing on his journeys. After his interview with Philips he stood outside on the veranda of the village inn for some time, and then went around through the village, stopping at a number of houses. Whatever it was that he was engaged in, it occupied him for several hours, and he did not get back to the inn till midnight.