CHAPTER VII.
"Major Boyce has gone, sir," said Marigold, the next morning, as I was tapping my breakfast egg.
"Gone ?" I echoed.

Boyce had made no reference the night before to so speedy a departure.
"By the 8.30 train, sir." Every train known by a scheduled time at Wellingsford goes to London.
There may be other trains proceeding from the station in the opposite direction but nobody heeds them.

Boyce had taken train to London.

I asked my omniscient sergeant: "How did you find that out ?" It appeared it was the driver of the Railway Delivery Van.

I smiled at Boyce's ostrich-like faith in the invisibility of his hinder bulk.