At eleven o’clock the household retired.  Merriton, still ignorant of his man’s absence, went to bed and slept soundly.  The first knowledge he received of Collins’ absence was when Borkins appeared in his bedroom in the morning.

“Where the deuce is Collins?” Merriton said pettishly, for he did not like Borkins, and they both knew it.

“That’s exactly what I ‘ave been tryin’ ter find out, sir,” responded Borkins, bravely. “’E ’asn’t been back since last night, so far as I could make out.”

“Last night?” Merriton sat bolt upright in bed and ran his fingers through his hair.  “What the dickens do you mean?”

“Collins went out last night, sir, to fetch your papers.  Leastways that was what he said he was goin’ for,” responded Borkins patiently, “and so far as I knows he ’asn’t returned yet.  Whether he dropped into a public ’ouse on the way or not, I don’t know, or whether he took the short cut to the station across the Fens isn’t for me to say.  But—­’e ’asn’t come back yet, sir!”

Merriton looked anxious.  Collins had a strong hold upon his master’s heart.  He certainly wouldn’t like anything to happen to him.

“You mean to say,” he said sharply, “that Collins went out last night to fetch my papers from the station and was fool enough to take the short cut across the Fens?”

“I warned him against doin’ so,” said Borkins, “since ’e said ’e’d probably go that way.  That no Frozen Flames was a-goin’ ter frighten ’im, an’—­an’ ’is language was most offensive.  But I’ve no doubt ’e went.”

“Then why the devil didn’t you tell me last night?” exclaimed Merriton angrily, jumping out of bed.  “You knew the—­the truth about Mr. Wynne’s disappearance, and yet you deliberately let that man go out to his death.  If anything’s happened to James Collins, Borkins, I’ll—­I’ll wring your damned neck.  Understand?”

Borkins went a shade or two paler, and took a step backward.

“Sir Nigel, sir—­I—­”

“When did Collins go?”

“‘Arf past eight, sir!” Borkins’ voice trembled a little.  “And believe me or not, sir, I did my best to persuade Collins from doin’ such an extremely dangerous thing.  I begged ‘im not to think o’ doin’ it, but Collins is pig-’eaded, if you’ll forgive the word, sir, and he was bent upon gettin’ your papers.  I swear, sir, I ain’t ‘ad anythin’ ter do with it, and when ’e didn’t come back last night before I went to bed I said to meself, I said, ’Collins ’as dropped into a public ’ouse and made a—­a ass of hisself’, I said.  And thought no more about it, expectin’ he’d be in later.  But ’is bed ’asn’t been slept in, and there ’s no sign of ’im anywhere.”

Merriton twisted round upon his heel and looked at the man keenly for a moment.