'You say you've heard nothing of him,' he continued. 'You're quite sure? This isn't a little game he's playing off on me, in which you're taking a hand?'

'Mr. FitzHoward, I'm not that sort of person. I've not heard one word; nor half a one. He came home that night after he'd been doing that sleep at the Aquarium--well, he'd been drinking.'

'You'd have been drinking if you'd only just woke up after being asleep for thirty days.'

'No, Mr. FitzHoward, I should not; though I can quite understand what an awful feeling it must be. And how he can go wasting his life like that----'

'You don't call it wasting his life when he earns nearly a hundred pounds in a month?'

'It's the first I've heard of it if he did earn nearly a hundred pounds. He gave me the money to pay the rent, and five pounds to pay the bills, and another five pounds to buy the children and me some clothes--it's a lucky thing I didn't buy them, or I should have been penniless--and that's all the money I ever heard of. That was on the Sunday morning. He had on a suit of clothes which I'd never seen before, and in them he looked a perfect gentleman.'

'He's a gentleman to his finger-tips--when he likes.'

'When he chooses he's anything and everything. His equal I never knew or heard tell of. I'm not a superst.i.tious woman, but it's sometimes my belief that he has dealings with those he didn't ought to.'

'I shouldn't be surprised.'

I could tell from his tone that he was laughing; as I let him see.

'You may laugh, Mr. FitzHoward, and welcome. But I know more about him than you do, and he's done things which make me believe he has traffic with the powers of evil.'

'You'd better tell him so.'

'I have told him so, more than once; and then he's spoken as if he was running a sword right through me. Not cross--that's one of his queer ways--he never is cross; you can't make him cross. But for sarcasm there never was his match. He makes you wish that you'd bitten your tongue off before you spoke. Well, as I was saying, that Sunday morning he came down with a new suit of clothes on, laid the money on the table, said what it was for, and walked right out. I didn't dare to ask him where he was going to.'

'They aren't many wives like you, Mrs. Merrett.'

'And there aren't many wives, Mr. FitzHoward, who've got husbands like mine. However, though I asked no questions I thought that, after being away a month, he'd be home for dinner, especially as I had expressly told him that I'd got as good a dinner for him as man could want. The children and I waited till the dinner was spoilt, but he never came. I cried; I was disappointed. That's nearly a fortnight ago, and from that hour to this I've seen and heard nothing of him.'

'Has he done this kind of thing before?'

'Plenty of times. Sometimes he's been away months at a stretch.'

'And left you penniless?'

'He's never done that. Money's always come along just as I was beginning to want it; with nothing, except his writing on the envelope, to show from whom it came.'

'He's a curiosity.'

'He's more than that. He's a mystery.'

'I don't know if you're aware that he's entered into certain contracts, and that, if he doesn't keep them, it'll be a serious thing for me.'

'He thinks nothing of breaking contracts; not he.'

'That's pleasant hearing. I hope he'll think something of breaking these.' He stood biting his fingernails; which is a habit I can't abide.

'Do you know anything about a man named Smith?'

'I've known something about a good many Smiths.'

'Yes, but this is a particular Smith. A very tall, well-set man; swell written large all over him; a military swagger; and a big brown moustache just turning grey.'

'I can't say that I recognise him from your description. But there's very few of my husband's friends I do know. Was this Mr. Smith a friend of his?'

'That's what I would like to know. I can give you one piece of information, Mrs. Merrett. When your husband left here that Sunday morning I can tell you where he went.'

'Perhaps you can tell me where he is now.'

'I wish I could. It would be a weight off my mind. He's booked to open at Manchester next week, and I want to see him to make arrangements.

That Sunday morning he went to the York Hotel. There he engaged a private sitting-room, in which he had an interview, by appointment, with Mr. John Smith. After Mr. Smith went he had dinner.'

'Did he?'

'He did; and a good one, too--from what I hear. He stayed at the York Hotel all day; he slept there that night.'

'How could he! And I sat up half the night hoping and longing for him to come home.'

'He left very early the next morning, without leaving word where he was going; and where he did go is what I want to know.'

'How do you know all this?'

'It's no secret. I happened to mention, in the hearing of the young lady behind the bar, that I couldn't make out what had become of Babbacombe, and she said that he'd slept there one night. Then the boss told me all there was to tell.'

'Who is this Mr. Smith James had the interview with?'

'That's another thing I want to know; and that's why I asked if you knew. The first time I saw him was on the Thursday--the twenty-eighth day of your husband's sleep. When he caught sight of your governor he turned quite queer.'

'Queer? What do you mean?'

'Why, he went so white and tottery that, for all the big man he is, I thought he was going to faint. If he hadn't seen your husband before, and wasn't precious sorry to see him again, I'm a Dutchman. The next day, Friday, he turned up again. Then he said that if I'd manage to let him speak to your husband he'd give me a five-pound note.'

'Good gracious! He must have been very anxious to speak to him.'

'He was--uncommon. Sure enough on the Sat.u.r.day night he was there.

After your husband had finished his show, I told him that a party named Smith wanted to see him.'

'Did you tell him he had offered to give you a five-pound note?'

'No; I didn't think that was necessary. The governor said, "Show him in." As I showed him in he slipped me the fiver. When I came back, I saw that something had taken place between them which had put your husband in a mood I couldn't understand. He must have made an appointment with this Smith for the next morning--though he said nothing about it to me. As he kept that appointment, and after keeping it disappeared, it looks very much as if Smith knew where he disappeared to, and why: if we could only find him.'

'If you take my advice, Mr. FitzHoward, you won't interfere in my husband's private affairs any more than you can help. He's not the kind of man who takes interference kindly.'

'His private affairs in this case are mine. At his request I have made certain engagements for him. If he doesn't keep them I shall be blamed. I'm a man, Mrs. Merrett, to whom professional reputation is dear. If he doesn't keep them it shall be through no fault of mine. If what you call interference is necessary to induce him to keep them, I'm going in for just as much of it as ever I can.'

'Very well, Mr. FitzHoward. Only don't ask me to help you. I've long since given up interfering with Mr. Merrett's comings and goings, either by word or deed.'

'As I said before, Mrs. Merrett, you're a remarkable wife. You see, I'm only his business manager; so I expect I'm actuated by different motives.'