What Became of Mr Desmond

ing else was talked of, for a good deal longer than the "nine days" of wonder. The bewilderment, the utter absence of explanation, the impossibility of believing either that anything serious could happen to Mr. Desmond between the garden door and Tenterley's; or that he could deliberately absent himself coatless, hatless, and in a green baize apron, made their brains whirl. Thought was cut off from every avenue of search; no solution appeared to be within the realms of credibility. When at length, and sorely against her instincts, Mrs. Desmond was persuaded to send for the police; and when, after a day or two of futile local muddle and messing, a man came down from Scotland Yard, the tale was such that the London agent would hardly believe he was being told the whole truth. Like allthe other puzzled people who came to give help or advice, the detective gazed in perplexity at the picture of The Lost Lamb reposing on the playroom floor beside the still expectant step-ladder. Like the others, he poked and pried in the tool-cupboard, still disordered with the search for nails. Like them, he questioned and cross-questioned7the now terrified Miss Desmond, who racked her brains for details of the work, the conversation, and the minutest incidents of the afternoon of her brother's disappearance. Like Brookes, Tenterley, and the local constable, he searched the lane for trace or clue. By this time, it was so trampled" back and forth that to hope for a guiding foot... --This text refers to an alternate Paperback edition.