hotel to receive him, thought that his newly
arrived guest was admiring the setting sun, the
placid sea with its path of fire, the little cove
under the cliffs, and the steamers in the offing;
but Saxon was scarcely conscious of the scene
before him.

CHAPTER LXXXVIII. THE DAUGHTER OF OCEAN.

No Mr. Forsyth had been heard of at the
Royal Hotel, Clevedon, and no lady whom any
person belonging to the house could identify with
Saxon's description of Helen Rivière. The head
waiter, a middle-aged man of clerical aspect,
suggested that "the gentleman should send for
Mr. Slatter." Learning that Mr. Slatter was
the superintendent of rural police, Saxon at once
despatched a messenger to request his presence;
whereupon the clerical waiter respectfully
inquired whether the gentleman had dined.

But Saxon had neither dined nor breakfasted
that day, nor slept in a bed for four nights past;
so he desired the waiter to serve whatever could
be made ready immediately, flung himself upon
a sofa, and, overwhelmed with fatigue, fell
profoundly asleep.

It seemed to him that he had scarcely closed
his weary eyes when a strange voice awoke him,
and he found the waiter shouting in his ear, the
dinner on the table, and Mr. Inspector Slatter
waiting to speak with him.

Mr. Slatter represented the majesty of the
English law to the extent of some six feet
three: a huge, bronzed, crisp-haired, keen-
eyed giant, with a soft rich voice, and a broad
Somersetshire accent. He had not heard of any
Mr. Forsyth at Clevedon, and he was positive
that no such name had been added to the visitors'
list up at the Reading Rooms. He had,
however, observed a lady in very deep black sitting
alone on the Old Church Hill both yesterday
and the day before. Not having been on the
hill himself, Mr. Inspector Slatter could not say
whether the lady was young or old; but that she
was "a new arrival" he did not doubt. She had
not been on the hill to-day. He had passed that
way half a dozen times, and could not have
failed to see her if she had been there. As to
finding out where this lady might be lodging,
nothing was easier. Mr. Slatter would guarantee
that information within a couple of hours.

So Saxon sat down to his solitary dinner, and
Mr. Slatter departed on his mission. Rather
before than after the expiration of two hours, he
came back, having ascertained all that he had
promised to learn. Miss Rivière had, indeed,
been at Clevedon. She arrived five days before,
accompanied by a gentleman who returned to
London by the next up-train, leaving her in
apartments at Weston Cottage down by the Green
Beach. This very day, however, shortly after
twelve, the same gentleman had come to fetch her
away to Bristol, and they left about two o'clock.

Saxon snatched up his hat, bade the inspector
lead the way, and rushed off to Weston Cottage
to interrogate the landlady. He was received
in the passage by a gaunt spinster, who at once
informed him that she was entertaining a party
of friends, and could not possibly attend to his
inquiries. But Saxon was quite too much in
earnest to be daunted by grim looks and short
answers; so, instead of politely requesting leave
to call again at a more convenient opportunity,
he only closed the door behind him, and said:

"I have but two or three questions to put to
you, madam. Answer those, and I am gone
immediately. Can you tell me in what direction
your lodger was going when she left here?"

"If you will call again, young man," began
the landlady, drawing herself up with a little
dignified quiver of the head, "any time after
twelve to-morrow. . . . ."

"Gracious Heavens, madam, I may be a couple
of hundred miles hence by twelve to-morrow!"
interrupted Saxon, impetuously. "Answer me
at once, I beseech you."

Protesting all the time that it was very
extraordinary, very unreasonable, very inconvenient,
the mistress of Weston Cottage then replied as
curtly and disagreeably as possible to Saxon's
questions. Miss Rivière and Mr. Forsyth had
left her house at a little before two o'clock that
afternoon. They took the twenty-three minutes
past two o'clock train to Bristol. "Where they
might be going after that she could not tell.
Having heard Mr. Forsyth mention the words
"high tide," and "Cumberland Basin," she had
guessed at the time that they might be about to
continue their journey by water. This, however,
was a mere supposition on her part, as she had
only overheard the words by chance, while passing
the drawing-room door. Mr. Forsyth, she
had understood, was Miss Rivière's guardian.
He did not arrive unexpectedly. It had been
all along arranged that he should return to-day
to fetch Miss Rivière away; and the apartments
were only engaged for one week. Some of Miss
Rivière's luggage, indeed, had never been taken
up-stairs at all; and the rest was ready in the
hall a good two hours before they went away.
It was all labelled Bristol. Here the gaunt
landlady's unwilling testimony ended.

By the time that Saxon got back to the Royal
Hotel, it was close upon ten o'clock. The last
train to Bristol had been gone nearly two hours,
and he must now either take post-horses all the
way, or drive to the Yatton junction, so as to
catch the up-train from Exeter at fifty-five
minutes past ten. Having taken counsel with
Mr. Slatter, he decided on the latter as the more
expeditious route, and in the course of a few
minutes had paid his hotel bill, recompensed the
inspector, and was once again on his way.

Then came the gloomy road; the monotonous
tramp of hoofs and rumble of wheels; hedgerows
gliding slowly past in the darkness, and
now and then a house by the wayside brimming
over with light and warmth. Next, the station,
with the up-train just steaming in; porters
running along the platform; first-class passengers
peering out cosily through close-shut windows;