But from the top of the house to the bottom, from the walls
round the park to the pond in the center, there was no trace of Lord
Bulmer, dead or alive. Horne Fisher realized that a chilling
premonition had already prevented him from expecting to find the man
alive. But his bald brow was wrinkled over an entirely new and
unnatural problem, in not finding the man at all.
He considered the possibility of Bulmer having gone off of his own
accord, for some reason; but after fully weighing it he finally
dismissed it. It was inconsistent with the unmistakable voice heard
at daybreak, and with many other practical obstacles. There was only
one gateway in the ancient and lofty wall round the small park; the
lodge keeper kept it locked till late in the morning, and the lodge
keeper had seen no one pass. Fisher was fairly sure that he had
before him a mathematical problem in an inclosed space. His instinct
had been from the first so attuned to the tragedy that it would have
been almost a relief to him to find the corpse. He would have been
grieved, but not horrified, to come on the nobleman's body dangling
from one of his own trees as from a gibbet, or floating in his own
pool like a pallid weed. What horrified him was to find nothing.
He soon become conscious that he was not alone even in his most
individual and isolated experiments.
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