called to mind that business had prevented Mr.
Bruff from making one of the party. Had any
ladies been present, whose usual residence was
in London? I could only remember Miss Clack
as coming within this latter category.
However, here were three of the guests, at any
rate, whom it was clearly advisable for me to
see before I left town. I drove off at once
to Mr. Bruff's office; not knowing the
addresses of the persons of whom I was in search,
and thinking it probable that he might put me
in the way of finding them.

Mr. Bruff proved to be too busy to give me
more than a minute of his valuable time. In
that minute, however, he contrived to dispose
—in the most discouraging manner—of all the
questions I had to put to him.

In the first place, he considered my newly-
discovered method of finding a clue to the
mystery as something too purely fanciful to be
seriously discussed. In the second, third, and
fourth places, Mr. Murthwaite was now on his
way back to the scene of his past adventures;
Miss Clack had suffered losses, and had settled,
from motives of economy, in France; Mr.
Godfrey Ablewhite might, or might not, be discoverable
somewhere in London. Suppose I inquired
at his club? And suppose I excused Mr. Bruff,
if he went back to his business and wished me
good morning?

The field of inquiry in London, being now so
narrowed as only to include the one necessity
of discovering Godfrey's address, I took the
lawyer's hint, and drove to his club.

In the hall, I met with one of the members,
who was an old friend of my cousin's, and
who was also an acquaintance of my own.
This gentleman, after enlightening me on the
subject of Godfrey's address, told me of two
recent events in his life, which were of some
importance in themselves, and which had not
previously reached my ears.

It appeared that Godfrey, far from being
discouraged by Rachel's withdrawal from her
engagement to him, had made matrimonial
advances soon afterwards to another young lady,
reputed to be a great heiress. His suit had
prospered, and his marriage had been considered
as a settled and certain thing. But, here again,
the engagement had been suddenly and
unexpectedly broken off—owing, it was said, on this
occasion, to a serious difference of opinion
between the bridegroom and the lady's father, on
the question of settlements.

As some compensation for this second
matrimonial disaster, Godfrey had soon afterwards
found himself the object of fond pecuniary
remembrance, on the part of one of his many
admirers. A rich old lady—highly respected at
the Mothers'-Small-Clothes-Conversion-Society,
and a great friend of Miss Clack's (to whom
she had left nothing but a mourning ring)—had
bequeathed to the admirable and meritorious
Godfrey a legacy of five thousand pounds.
After receiving this handsome addition to his
own modest pecuniary resources, he had been
heard to say that he felt the necessity of getting
a little respite from his charitable labours, and
that his doctor prescribed "a run on the
Continent, as likely to be productive of much future
benefit to his health." If I wanted to see him,
it would be advisable to lose no time in paying
my contemplated visit.

I went, then and there, to pay my visit.

The same fatality which had made me just one
day too late in calling on Sergeant Cuff, made
me again one day too late in calling on Godfrey.
He had left London, on the previous morning,
by the tidal train for Dover. He was to cross
to Ostend; and his servant believed he was
going on to Brussels. The time of his return
was a little uncertain; but I might be sure that
he would be away at least three months.

I went back to my lodgings a little depressed
in spirits. Three of the guests at the birthday
dinner—and those three all exceptionally
intelligent people—were out of my reach, at the
very time when it was most important to be able
to communicate with them. My last hopes now
rested on Betteredge, and on the friends of the
late Lady Verinder whom I might still find living
in the neighbourhood of Rachel's country house.

On this occasion, I travelled straight to
Frizinghall—the town being now the central point
in my field of inquiry. I arrived too late in
the evening to be able to communicate with
Betteredge. The next morning, I sent a
messenger with a letter, requesting him to join me
at the hotel, at his earliest convenience.

Having taken the precaution—partly to save
time, partly to accommodate Betteredge—of
sending my messenger in a fly, I had a reasonable
prospect, if no delays occurred, of seeing
the old man within less than two hours from
the time when I had sent for him. During this
interval, I arranged to employ myself in opening
my contemplated inquiry, among the guests
present at the birthday dinner who were personally
known to me, and who were easily within my
reach. These were my relatives, the Ablewhites,
and Mr. Candy. The doctor had expressed a
special wish to see me, and the doctor lived in
the next street. So to Mr. Candy I went first.

After what Betteredge had told me, I
naturally anticipated finding traces in the doctor's
face of the severe illness from which he had
suffered. But I was utterly unprepared for
such a change as I saw in him when he
entered the room and shook hands with me. His
eyes were dim; his hair had turned completely
grey; his face was wizen; his figure had
shrunk. I looked at the once lively, rattlepated,
humourous little doctor—associated in my
remembrance with the perpetration of incorrigible
social indiscretions and innumerable boyish
jokes—and I saw nothing left of his former self,
but the old tendency to vulgar smartness in his
dress. The man was a wreck; but his clothes
and his jewellery—in cruel mockery of the
change in him—were as gay and gaudy as ever.

"I have often thought of you, Mr. Blake,"
he said; "and I am heartily glad to see you
again at last. If there is anything I can do
for you, pray command my services, sir—pray
command my services!"