His errands took Martin the best part of an hour, and he returned with two notes, one for Mrs. Assheton, the other for Morris.  He had been also to the flat and inquired, but there was no news of the missing man.

Morris opened his note, which was from Mr. Taynton.

“Dear Morris,

“I am delighted that your mother and you can dine to-morrow, and I am telegraphing first thing in the morning to see if Miss Madge will make our fourth.  I feel sure that when she knows what my little party is, she will come.

“I have been twice round to see if my partner has returned, and find no news of him.  It is idle to deny that I am getting anxious, as I cannot conceive what has happened.  Should he not be back by tomorrow morning, I shall put the matter into the hands of the police.  I trust that my anxieties are unfounded, but the matter is beginning to look strange.

“Affectionately yours,

“Edward Taynton.”

There is nothing so infectious as anxiety, and it can be conveyed by look or word or letter, and requires no period of incubation.  And Morris began to be really anxious also, with a vague disquietude at the sense of there being something wrong.

CHAPTER VIII

Mr. Taynton, according to the intention he had expressed, sent round early next morning (the day of the week being Saturday) to his partner’s flat, and finding that he was not there, and that no word of any kind had been received from him, went, as he felt himself now bound to do, to the police office, stated what had brought him there, and gave them all information which it was in his power to give.

It was brief enough; his partner had gone up to town on Tuesday last, and, had he followed his plans should have returned to Brighton by Thursday evening, since he had made an appointment to come to Mr. Taynton’s house at nine thirty that night.  It had been ascertained too, by—­Mr. Taynton hesitated a moment—­by Mr. Morris Assheton in London, that he had left his flat in St. James’s Court on Thursday afternoon, to go, presumably, to catch the train back to Brighton.  He had also left orders that all letters should be forwarded to him at his Brighton address.

Superintendent Figgis, to whom Mr. Taynton made his statement, was in manner slow, stout, and bored, and looked in every way utterly unfitted to find clues to the least mysterious occurrences, unearth crime or run down the criminal.  He seemed quite incapable of running down anything, and Mr. Taynton had to repeat everything he said in order to be sure that Mr. Figgis got his notes, which he made in a large round hand, with laborious distinctness, correctly written.  Having finished them the Superintendent stared at them mournfully for a little while, and asked Mr. Taynton if he had anything more to add.

“I think that is all,” said the lawyer.  “Ah, one moment.  Mr. Mills expressed to me the intention of perhaps getting out at Falmer and walking over the downs to Brighton.  But Thursday was the evening on which we had that terrible thunderstorm.  I should think it very unlikely that he would have left the train.”