CHAPTER XVII.
MISSING! Miss Marty had just finished watering her sweet-peas and mignonette; had inspected each of the four standard roses beside the front gate in search of green-fly; had caught a snail sallying forth to dine late upon her larkspurs, and called to Cai Tamblyn to destroy it; had, in short, performed all her ritual for the cool of the day; and was removing her gardening gloves when a vehement knocking agitated the front door, and Scipio hurried to announce that a caller--a Mr.Basket--desired to see her on important business.
"Mr.Basket ?" she echoed apprehensively, and made at once for the parlour, where she found her visitor mopping his brow.

Despite the heat, he was pale.

In his left hand he held a letter.
"You will pardon me," he began in a flutter.

"Am I addressing Miss Martha Hymen ?" "You are, sir." Miss Marty clasped her hands in alarm at his demeanour.

"Oh, tell me what has happened!" "All the way from Plymouth on purpose," answered Mr.Basket.
"Most mysterious occurrence.