"Heard anything?" asked Wedgwood as they met. "I mean—since last night?"
The Superintendent, panting from his exertions, nodded.
"A man came in from these parts this morning," he answered, "with a story of having seen that housekeeper at Mortover Grange and a gentleman on a lonely part of the moor, near the new colliery works, night before last, lost, and uncertain about their way—they wanted to get back to the Grange. He told them as best he could, but yesterday, he says, the postman who had made his way to the Grange during the morning, told him that a young woman there had told him that Mrs. Clagne and a gentleman she had gone out with the night before had never returned. So this man, my informant, thought we ought to know, and I set out with these two men—our car's stuck, down yonder—snow's too deep to get further. What's your news?"
"Pretty much what yours is," said Wedgwood. "Mr. Levigne and Mrs. Clagne left Mortover Grange night before last at five o'clock: they were to return at eight. They never did: they've never been heard of since. And young Mortover is missing, too—this man's just brought some news of him." He retailed the drover's account of Philip. "What's to be
