Starmidge hastily pulled some garments about him, and flinging a travelling-coat over his shoulders, hurried downstairs, to find a sleepy-looking policeman in the hall.

"How did this man get here—at this time of night?" he asked, as they set off towards the police-station.

"Came in a taxi-cab from Ecclesborough," answered the policeman. "I haven't heard any particulars, Mr. Starmidge, except that he'd read the news in the London paper this evening and set off here in consequence. He's in Mr. Polke's house, sir."

Starmidge walked into the superintendent's parlour, to find him in company with a young man, whom the detective at once sized up as a typical London clerk—a second glance assured him that his clerkship was of the legal variety.

"Here's Detective-Sergeant Starmidge," said Polke. "Starmidge, this gentleman's Mr. Simmons, from London. Mr. Simmons says he's clerk to a Mr. Hollis, a London solicitor. And, having read that description in the papers this last evening, he's certain that the man who came to the Station Hotel here on Saturday is his governor."

Starmidge sat down and looked again at the visitor—a tall, sandy-haired, freckled young man, who was obviously a good deal puzzled.

"Is Mr. Hollis missing, then?" asked Starmidge.

Simmons looked as if he found it somewhat difficult to explain matters.

"Well," he answered. "It's this way. I've never seen him since Saturday. And he hasn't been at his rooms—his private rooms—since Saturday. In the ordinary course he ought to have been at business first thing yesterday—we'd some very important business on yesterday morning, which wasn't done because of his absence. He never turned up yesterday at all—nor today either—we never heard from or of him. And so, when I read that description in the papers this evening, I caught the first express I could get down here—at least to Ecclesborough—I had to motor from there."

"That description describes Mr. Hollis, then?" asked Starmidge.

"Exactly! I'm sure it's Mr. Hollis—it's him to a T!" answered the clerk. "I recognized it at once."

"Let's get everything in order," said Starmidge, with a glance at Polke. "To begin with, who is Mr. Hollis?"

"Mr. Frederick Hollis, solicitor, 59b South Square, Gray's Inn," replied Simmons promptly. "Andwell & Hollis is the name of the firm—but there isn't any Andwell—hasn't been for many a year—he's dead, long since, is Andwell. Mr. Hollis is the only proprietor."

"Don't know him at all," remarked Starmidge. "What's his particular line of practice?"

"Conveyancing," said Simmons.

"Then, naturally, I shouldn't," observed Starmidge. "My acquaintance is chiefly with police-court solicitors. And you say he'd private rooms some where? Where, now?"

"Paper Buildings, Temple," replied the clerk. "He'd a suite of rooms there—he's had 'em for years."

"Bachelor, then?" inquired the detective.

"Yes—he's a bachelor," agreed Simmons.

"You know he hasn't been at his rooms since Saturday—you've ascertained that?" continued Starmidge.

"He's never been at his rooms since he left them after breakfast on Saturday morning," replied Simmons. "I went there at eleven o'clock Monday—that was yesterday—again at four: twice on Tuesday. I was coming away from the Temple when I got the paper and read about this affair."

"When did you see him last?" asked Starmidge.

"Half-past-twelve Saturday. He went out—dressed just as it says in your description. And," concluded the clerk, with a shake of his head which suggested his own inability to understand matters, "he never said a word to me about coming down here."

"Did he say anything to anybody at his rooms about going away?—for the week-end, for instance?" asked the detective. "There'd be somebody there, of course."

"Only a woman who tidied up for him and got his breakfast ready of a morning," said Simmons. "He took all his other meals out. No—he said nothing to her. But he wasn't a week-ender: he very rarely left his rooms except for the office."

"Any of his relations been after him?" inquired Starmidge.

"I don't know anything about his relations—nor friends, either," answered the clerk. "Don't even know the address of one of them, or I'd have gone to seek him on Monday—everything's at a standstill. He was a lonely sort of man—I never heard of his relations or friends."

"How long have you been with him, then?" asked the detective. "Some time?"

"Six years," replied Simmons.

"And you've no doubt, from the description in the papers, that the gentleman who came here on Saturday last is Mr. Hollis?" asked Starmidge.

The clerk shook his head with an air of conviction.

"None!" he answered. "None whatever!"

Starmidge helped himself to a cigar out of an open box which lay on Polke's table. He lighted it carefully, and smoked for a minute or two in silence. Then he looked at Polke.

"Well, there's a very obvious question to put to Mr. Simmons after all that," he remarked. "Have you any idea," he continued, turning to the clerk, "of any reason that would bring Mr. Hollis to Scarnham?"

Simmons shook his head more vigorously than before.

"Not the ghost of an idea!" he exclaimed.

"There was no business being done with anybody at Scarnham?" asked Starmidge.

"Not in our office!" asserted Simmons. "I'm sure of that. I know all the business that we have in hand. To tell you the truth, gentlemen, though you may think me very ignorant, I never even heard of Scarnham myself until I read the paper this evening."

"Quite excusable," said Starmidge. "I never heard of it myself until Monday. Well—this is all very queer, Mr. Simmons. What does Mr. Polke think? And what's Mr. Polke got to suggest!"

Polke, who had been listening silently, turned to the clerk.

"Did you chance to look at Mr. Hollis's letters—recent letters, I mean—" he asked, "to see if you would find anything inviting him down here?"

"I did," replied Simmons promptly. "I looked through all the letters on his desk and in his drawers yesterday afternoon. I didn't find anything that explained his absence. And when I was at his rooms this evening I looked at some letters on his mantelpiece—nothing there. I tell you, I haven't the least notion as to what could bring him to Scarnham."

"And I suppose none of your fellow-clerks have, either?" asked Polke.

Simmons smiled and glanced at Starmidge.

"We've only myself and another—a junior clerk—and a boy," he said. "It's not a big practice—only a bit of good conveyancing now and then, and some family business. Mr. Hollis isn't dependent on it—he's private means of his own."

"Aye, just so!" observed Polke. "And I should say, Starmidge, that it was private business brought him down here—if he's the man, as he certainly seems to be. But—whose?"

Starmidge turned again to the clerk.

"You've a good memory, I can see," he said. "Now, did you ever hear Mr. Hollis mention the name of Horbury?"

"Never!" replied Simmons.

"Did you ever hear him speak of Chestermarke's Bank?" asked Starmidge.

"No—never! Never heard either name in my life until I saw them in the papers," asserted Simmons.

"Who looks after the banking account at Hollis's?" asked the detective. "I mean, the business account—you know. Not his private one."

"I do," said Simmons. "Always have done since I went there."

"You never saw any cheques paid to those names—or any cheques from them?" inquired Starmidge. "Think, now!"

"No—I'm absolutely sure of it," said the clerk. "Horbury, perhaps, I might not remember, but I should have remembered Chestermarke—it's an uncommon name, that—to me, anyway."

"Well," said Starmidge, after a pause, during which all three looked at each other as men look who have come to a dead stop in the progress of things, "there's one thing very certain, Mr. Simmons. If that was your governor who came down to the Station Hotel here on Saturday evening last, he certainly telephoned from there to Chestermarke's Bank as soon as he arrived. And he got a reply from there, and he evidently went out to meet whoever sent it—that sender seeming to be Mr. Horbury, the manager. And so," he concluded, turning to Polke, "what we've got to find out is—what did Hollis come here at all for?"

"We shan't find that out tonight," said Polke, with a yawn.

"Quite so—so we'll adjourn till morning, when Mr. Simmons shall see Mrs. Pratt—just to establish things," remarked Starmidge. "In the meantime he'd better come round with me to my place, and I'll get him a bed."

Neither the police-superintendent nor the detective had the slightest doubt after hearing Simmons' story that the man who presented himself at the Station Hotel at Scarnham on the evening of John Horbury's disappearance was Mr. Frederick Hollis, solicitor, of Gray's Inn. If they had still retained any doubt it would have disappeared next morning when they took the clerk down to see Mrs. Pratt. The landlady described her customer even more fully than before: Simmons had no doubt whatever that she described his employer: he wouldn't have been more certain, he said, that Mrs. Pratt was talking about Mr. Hollis, if she'd shown him a photograph of that gentleman.

"So we can take that for settled," remarked Polke, as the three left the hotel and went back to the town. "The man who came here last Saturday night was Mr. Frederick Hollis, solicitor, of South Square, Gray's Inn, London. That's established, I take it, Starmidge?"

"Seems so," agreed the detective.

"Then the next question is—Where's he got to?" said Polke.

"I think the next question is—Has anybody ever heard of him in connection with Mr. Horbury, or the Chestermarkes?" observed Starmidge. "There's no doubt he came down here to see one or other of them—Horbury, most likely."

"And who's to tell us anything?" asked Polke.

"Miss Fosdyke's a relation of Horbury's," replied Starmidge. "She may know Hollis by name. Mr. Neale's always been in touch with Horbury—he may have heard of Hollis. And—so may the bankers."

"The difficulty is to make them say anything," said Polke. "They'll only tell what they please."

"Let's try the other two, anyway," counselled Starmidge. "They may be able to tell something. For as sure as I am what I am, the whole secret of this business lies in Hollis's coming down here to see Horbury, and in what followed on their meeting. If we could only get to know what Hollis came here for—ah!"

But they got no further information from either Betty Fosdyke or Wallington Neale. Neither had ever heard of Mr. Frederick Hollis, of Gray's Inn. Betty was certain, beyond doubt, that he was no relation of the missing bank-manager: she had the whole family-tree of the Horburys at her finger-ends, she declared: no Hollis was connected with even its outlying twigs. Neale had never heard the name of Hollis mentioned by Horbury. And he added that he was absolutely sure that during the last five years no person of that name had ever had dealings with Chestermarke's Bank—open dealings, at any rate. Secret dealings with the partners, severally or collectively, or with Horbury, for that matter, Mr. Hollis might have had, but Neale was certain he had had no ordinary business with any of them.

Polke took heart of grace and led Simmons across to the bank. To his astonishment, the partners now received him readily and politely; they even listened with apparent interest to the clerk's story, and asked him some questions arising out of it. But each declared that he knew nothing about Mr. Frederick Hollis, and was utterly unaware of any reason that could bring him to Scarnham: it was certainly on no business of theirs, as a firm, or as private individuals, that he came.

"He came, of course, to see Horbury," said Joseph at last. "That's dead certain. No doubt they met. And after that—well, they seem to have vanished together."

Gabriel followed Polke into the hall and drew him aside.

"Did this clerk tell you whether his master was a man of standing?" he asked.

"Man of private means, Mr. Chestermarke, with a small, highly respectable practice—a conveyancing solicitor," answered Polke.

"Oh!" replied Gabriel. "Just so. Well—we know nothing about him."

Polke and his companion returned to the Scarnham Arms, where Starmidge was in consultation with Betty and Neale.

"They know nothing at all over there," he reported. "Never heard of Hollis. What's to be done now!"

"Mr. Simmons must do the next thing," answered the detective. "Get back to town, Mr. Simmons, and put yourself in communication with every single one of Mr. Hollis's clients—you know them all, of course. Find out if any of them gave Mr. Hollis any business that would send him to Scarnham. Don't leave a stone unturned in that way! And the moment you have any information, however slight, wire to me, here—on the instant."