"She may have gone to her," said Bothwell eagerly.
"Hardly likely. Mdlle. Duprez lives in two rooms. Hilda would scarcely ask for hospitality there."
"I don't know. She is very fond of Mdlle. Duprez. I have heard her say so. That is a clue, at any rate. I shall go to Mdlle. Duprez this afternoon. I must walk across to Penmorval and see my cousin first. She may know more of Hilda's plans than you do."
"That is very likely. Mrs. Wyllard is Hilda's most intimate friend."
"There was a lady came to call upon Miss Heathcote a few days ago," said Bothwell. "Did you happen to see that lady?"
"I did not," answered the Fräulein, looking at him curiously. "Yet I can but think that lady had something to do with Hilda's strange conduct. She is an old friend of yours, I believe—Lady Valeria Harborough."
"Yes, I have known her for some years. Was she long with Hilda?"
"She was closeted with her for at least an hour, and from that time to this I have not seen Hilda's face. She went to her room soon after Lady Valeria left. She excused herself from appearing at dinner on account of a headache, and when I went to her door later in the evening she refused to let me in, and I could hear from her voice that she had been crying. I went to her room again at seven o'clock next morning, for my mind had been uneasy about her all night; but she was gone. I found two letters, one for Mr. Heathcote, and one for me."
"Would you be kind enough to show me the letter she wrote to you?"
The Fräulein reflected for a few moments, being an eminently cautious person, and then produced Hilda's note from her pocket-book.
"I do not think there can be any harm in showing it to you," she said. "There is so little in it."
The letter ran thus:
