“Why, no.  Isn’t he here?” I asked.

“He has been gone since yesterday afternoon.  Have you employed him long?”

“Only a couple of weeks.”

“Is he efficient?  A capable man?”

“I hardly know,” I said vaguely.  “The place looks all right, and I know very little about such things.  I know much more about boxes of roses than bushes of them.”

“This man,” pointing to the assistant, “says Alex isn’t a gardener.  That he doesn’t know anything about plants.”

“That’s very strange,” I said, thinking hard.  “Why, he came to me from the Brays, who are in Europe.”

“Exactly.”  The detective smiled.  “Every man who cuts grass isn’t a gardener, Miss Innes, and just now it is our policy to believe every person around here a rascal until he proves to be the other thing.”

Warner came up with the car then, and the conversation stopped.  As he helped me in, however, the detective said something further.

“Not a word or sign to Alex, if he comes back,” he said cautiously.

I went first to Doctor Walker’s.  I was tired of beating about the bush, and I felt that the key to Halsey’s disappearance was here at Casanova, in spite of Mr. Jamieson’s theories.

The doctor was in.  He came at once to the door of his consulting-room, and there was no mask of cordiality in his manner.

“Please come in,” he said curtly.

“I shall stay here, I think, doctor.”  I did not like his face or his manner; there was a subtle change in both.  He had thrown of the air of friendliness, and I thought, too, that he looked anxious and haggard.

“Doctor Walker,” I said, “I have come to you to ask some questions.  I hope you will answer them.  As you know, my nephew has not yet been found.”

“So I understand,” stiffly.

“I believe, if you would, you could help us, and that leads to one of my questions.  Will you tell me what was the nature of the conversation you held with him the night he was attacked and carried off?”

“Attacked!  Carried off!” he said, with pretended surprise.  “Really, Miss Innes, don’t you think you exaggerate?  I understand it is not the first time Mr. Innes has—­disappeared.”

“You are quibbling, doctor.  This is a matter of life and death.  Will you answer my question?”

“Certainly.  He said his nerves were bad, and I gave him a prescription for them.  I am violating professional ethics when I tell you even as much as that.”

I could not tell him he lied.  I think I looked it.  But I hazarded a random shot.

“I thought perhaps,” I said, watching him narrowly, “that it might be about—­Nina Carrington.”

For a moment I thought he was going to strike me.  He grew livid, and a small crooked blood-vessel in his temple swelled and throbbed curiously.  Then he forced a short laugh.

“Who is Nina Carrington?” he asked.