CHAPTER XXXI
NO TRACE
That telegram had swept all the doings of the morning clear away from me.Little I cared about the Carstairs affairs and all the mystery that waswrapping round them in comparison with the news which Murray had sentalong in that peculiarly distressing fashion! I would cheerfully havegiven all I ever hoped to be worth if he had only added more news; but hehad just said enough to make me feel as if I should go mad unless I couldget home there and then. I had not seen Maisie since she and my motherhad left Mr. Lindsey and me at Dundee--I had been so fully engaged sincethen, what with the police, and Mrs. Ralston, and Mr. Portlethorpe, andthe hurried journeys, first to Newcastle and then to Edinburgh, that Ihad never had a minute to run down and see how things were going on.What, of course, drove me into an agony of apprehension was Murray's useof that one word "unaccountably." Why should Maisie be "unaccountably"missing? What had happened to take her out of her father's house?--wherehad she gone, that no trace of her could be got?--what had led to thisutterly startling development?--what--
But it was no use speculating on these things--the need was for action.And I had seized on the first porter I met, and was asking him for thenext train to Berwick, when Mr. Gavin Smeaton gripped my arm.
"There's a train in ten minutes, Moneylaws," said he quietly. "Come awayto it--I'll go with you--we're all going. Mr. Lindsey thinks we'll do asmuch there as here, now."
Looking round I saw the two solicitors hurrying in our direction, Mr.Lindsey carrying Murray's telegram in his hand. He pulled me aside as weall walked towards the train.
"What do you make of this, Hugh?" he asked. "Can you account for anyreason why the girl should be missing?"
"I haven't an idea," said I. "But if it's anything to do with all therest of this business, Mr. Lindsey, let somebody look out! I'll have nomercy on anybody that's interfered with her--and what else can it be? Iwish I'd never left the town!"
"Aye, well, we'll soon be back in it," he said, consolingly. "And we'llhope to find better news. I wish Murray had said more; it's a mistake tofrighten folk in that way--he's said just too much and just too little."
It was a fast express that we caught for Berwick, and we were not long incovering the distance, but it seemed like ages to me, and the rest ofthem failed to get a word out of my lips during the whole time. And myheart was in my mouth when, as we ran into Berwick station, I sawChisholm and Andrew Dunlop on the platform waiting us. Folk that havehad bad news are always in a state of fearing to receive worse, and Idreaded what they might have come to the station to tell us. And Mr.Lindsey saw how I was feeling, and he was on the two of them with aninstant question.
"Do you know any more about the girl than was in Murray's wire?" hedemanded. "If so, what? The lad here's mad for news!"
Chisholm shook his head, and Andrew Dunlop looked searchingly at me.
"We know nothing more," he answered. "You don't know anything yourself,my lad?" he went on, staring at me still harder.
"I, Mr. Dunlop!" I exclaimed. "What do you think, now, asking me aquestion like yon! What should I know?"
"How should I know that?" said he. "You dragged your mother and my lassall the way to Dundee for nothing--so far as I could learn; and--"
"He'd good reason," interrupted Mr. Lindsey. "He did quite right. Nowwhat is this about your daughter, Mr. Dunlop? Just let's have the plaintale of it, and then we'll know where we are."
I had already seen that Andrew Dunlop was not over well pleased withme--and now I saw why. He was a terrible hand at economy, saving everypenny he could lay hands on, and as nothing particular seemed to havecome of it, and--so far as he could see--there had been no great reasonfor it, he was sore at my sending for his daughter to Dundee, and all thesorer because--though I, of course, was utterly innocent of it--Maisiehad gone off on that journey without as much as a by-your-leave to him.And he was not over ready or over civil to Mr. Lindsey.
"Aye, well!" said he. "There's strange doings afoot, and it's not my willthat my lass should be at all mixed up in them, Mr. Lindsey! All thisrunning up and down, hither and thither, on business that doesn'tconcern--"
Mr. Lindsey had the shortest of tempers on occasion, and I saw that hewas already impatient. He suddenly turned away with a growl andcollared Chisholm.
"You're a fool, Dunlop," he exclaimed over his shoulder; "it's yourtongue that wants to go running! Now then, sergeant!--what is all thisabout Miss Dunlop? Come on!"
My future father-in-law drew off in high displeasure, but Chisholmhurriedly explained matters.
"He's in a huffy state, Mr. Lindsey," he said, nodding at Andrew'sretreating figure. "Until you came in, he was under the firm belief thatyou and Mr. Hugh had got the young lady away again on some of thismystery business--he wouldn't have it any other way. And truth to tell, Iwas wondering if you had, myself! But since you haven't, it's here--and Ihope nothing's befallen the poor young thing, for--"
"For God's sake, man, get it out!" said I. "We've had prefaceenough--come to your tale!"
"I'm only explaining to you, Mr. Hugh," he answered, calmly. "And Iunderstand your impatience. It's like this, d'ye see?--Andrew Dunlopyonder has a sister that's married to a man, a sheep-farmer, whose placeis near Coldsmouth Hill, between Mindrum and Kirk Yetholm--"
"I know!" I said. "You mean Mrs. Heselton. Well, man?"
"Mrs. Heselton, of course," said he. "You're right there. And lastnight--about seven or so in the evening--a telegram came to the Dunlopssaying Mrs. Heselton was taken very ill, and would Miss Dunlop go over?And away she went there and then, on her bicycle, and alone--and shenever reached the place!"
"How do you know that?" demanded Mr. Lindsey.
"Because," answered Chisholm, "about nine o'clock this morning in comesone of the Heselton lads to Dunlop to tell him his mother had died duringthe night; and then, of course, they asked did Miss Dunlop get there intime, and the lad said they'd never set eyes on her. And--that's allthere is to tell, Mr. Lindsey."
I was for starting off, with, I think, the idea of instantly mountingmy bicycle and setting out for Heselton's farm, when Mr. Lindseyseized my elbow.
"Take your time, lad," said he. "Let's think what we're doing. Now then,how far is it to this place where the girl was going?"
"Seventeen miles," said I, promptly.
"You know it?" he asked. "And the road?"
"I've been there with her--many a time, Mr. Lindsey," I answered. "Iknow every inch of the road."
"Now then!" he said, "get the best motor car there is in the town, and beoff! Make inquiries all the way along; it'll be a queer thing if youcan't trace something--it would be broad daylight all the time she'd beon her journey. Make a thorough search and full inquiry--she must havebeen seen." He turned to Mr. Smeaton, who had stood near, listening. "Gowith him!" he said. "It'll be a good turn to do him--he wants company."
Mr. Smeaton and I hurried outside the station--a car or two stood in theyard, and we picked out the best. As we got in, Chisholm came up to us.
"You'd better have a word or two with our men along the road, Mr. Hugh,"said he. "There's not many between here and the part you're going to, butyou'd do no harm to give them an idea of what it is you're after, andtell them to keep their eyes open--and their ears, for that matter."
"Aye, we'll do that, Chisholm," I answered. "And do you keep eyes andears open here in Berwick! I'll give ten pounds, and cash in his hand, tothe first man that gives me news; and you can let that be known as muchas you like, and at once--whether Andrew Dunlop thinks it's throwingmoney away or not!"
And then we were off; and maybe that he might draw me away from over muchapprehension, Mr. Smeaton began to ask me about the road which Maisiewould take to get to the Heseltons' farm--the road which we, of course,were taking ourselves. And I explained to him that it was just theordinary high-road that ran between Berwick and Kelso that Maisie wouldfollow, until she came to Cornhill, where she would turn south by way ofMindrum Mill, where--if that fact had anything
to do with herdisappearance--she would come into a wildish stretch of country at thenorthern edge of the Cheviots.
"There'll be places--villages and the like--all along, I expect?" heasked.
"It's a lonely road, Mr. Smeaton," I answered. "I know it well--whatplaces there are, are more off than on it, but there's no stretch of itthat's out of what you might term human reach. And how anybody couldhappen aught along it of a summer's evening is beyond me!--unless indeedwe're going back to the old kidnapping times. And if you knew MaisieDunlop, you'd know that she's the sort that would put up a fight if shewas interfered with! I'm wondering if this has aught to do with all yonCarstairs affair? There's been such blackness about that, and suchvillainy, that I wish I'd never heard the name!"
"Aye!" he answered. "I understand you. But--it's coming to an end. And inqueer ways--queer ways, indeed!"
I made no reply to him--and I was sick of the Carstairs matters; itseemed to me I had been eating and drinking and living and sleeping withmurder and fraud till I was choked with the thought of them. Let me onlyfind Maisie, said I to myself, and I would wash my hands of any furtherto-do with the whole vile business.
But we were not to find Maisie during the long hours of that wearyafternoon and the evening that followed it. Mr. Lindsey had bade me keepthe car and spare no expense, and we journeyed hither and thither allround the district, seeking news and getting none. She had been seen justonce, at East Ord, just outside Berwick, by a man that was working in hiscottage garden by the roadside--no other tidings could we get. Wesearched all along the road that runs by the side of Bowmont Water,between Mindrum and the Yetholms, devoting ourselves particularly to thatstretch as being the loneliest, and without result. And as the twilightcame on, and both of us were dead weary, we turned homeward, myselffeeling much more desperate than even I did when I was swimming for myvery life in the North Sea.
"And I'm pretty well sure of what it is, now, Mr. Smeaton!" I exclaimedas we gave up the search for that time. "There's been foul play! And I'llhave all the police in Northumberland on this business, or--"
"Aye!" he said, "it's a police matter, this, without doubt, Moneylaws.We'd best get back to Berwick, and insist on Murray setting his menthoroughly to work."
We went first to Mr. Lindsey's when we got back, his house being on ourway. And at sight of us he hurried out and had us in his study. There wasa gentleman with him there--Mr. Ridley, the clergyman who had givenevidence about Gilverthwaite at the opening of the inquest on Phillips.