"My dear boy, don't excite yourself," said his brother. "Here's the french-window. I expect she's out there."

"With bare shoulders and thin dress? It's been raining like hell since ten o'clock. I tell you there's something wrong," said Dick, taking one stride to the table, and lifting the lamp above his head. He glanced swiftly round the room.

"Look at your safe," he said.

Randal, impressed by his brother's tone, went quickly to the alcove, between whose looped curtains showed the green door of a safe embedded in the wall. Before he touched it,

"My God! There's a key!" he said.

"Where's yours?" snapped Dick.

"Here," said Randal, pulling a bunch from his pocket.

"Look inside."

Randal turned the key, swung back the heavy door, groped for a minute, and swung round with a face like death.

"What's gone?" cried Dick.

"Caldegard's drug-bottle and formula!"

CHAPTER VII.

PERFUME.

Search of house and grounds was fruitless.

Before half-past eleven the rainstorm was over, and a bright moon lighted the brothers and the men-servants to the discovery of just nothing at all.

Except to give an order, or make a suggestion, neither Bellamy spoke until they stood alone together in the hall.

They looked at each other like men who from dreams of hell have waked to find it.

Then the elder groaned, beside himself.

"The poor girl!" he said. "To think of her ill-used—murdered, perhaps!"

 Prev. P 28/168 next