I went across to White's and dined alone. I was in no mood for the companionship of friends. No one save myself knew that my wife had disappeared. Jack suspected something wrong, but was not aware of what it exactly was.
I went down to Andover next day and called upon the Shuttleworths. Mrs. Shuttleworth was kind and affable as usual, but whether my suspicions were ungrounded or not, I thought the rector a trifle brusque in manner, as though annoyed by my presence there.
I recollected what the man Lewis had told his friends--that he had seen Shuttleworth down in the Ditches--one of the lowest neighbourhoods--of Southampton. The rector had told him all that had transpired!
Why was this worthy country rector, living the quiet life of a remote Hampshire village, in such constant communication with a band of thieves?
I sat with him in his well-remembered study for perhaps an hour. But he was a complete enigma. Casually I referred to the great jewel theft, which was more or less upon every one's tongue.
"I seldom read newspaper horrors," he replied, puffing at his familiar pipe. "I saw something in the head-lines of the paper, but I did not read the details. I've been writing some articles for the _Guardian_ lately, and my time has been so fully occupied."
Was this the truth? Or was he merely evading the necessity of discussing the matter?
He had inquired after Sylvia, and I had been compelled to admit that she was away. But I did so in such a manner that I implied she was visiting friends.
Outside, the lawn, so bright and pleasant in summer, now looked damp and dreary, littered by the brown drifting leaves of autumn.
Somehow I read in his grey face a strange expression, and detected an eagerness to get rid of me. For the first time I found myself an unwelcome visitor at the rectory.
"Have you seen Mr. Pennington of late?" I asked presently.
"No, not for some time. He wrote me from Brussels about a month ago, and said that business was calling him to Spain. Have you seen him?" he asked.
Then again I referred to the great robbery, whereat he said--
"Why, Mr. Biddulph, you appear as though you can't resist the fascination that mysterious crime has for you! I suppose you are an ardent novel-reader--eh? People fond of novels always devour newspaper mysteries."