CHAPTER IV – A Strange Dis­ap­pear­ance unfolds with grow­ing ten­sion as Mr. Gryce and the nar­ra­tor begin to untan­gle the baf­fling dis­ap­pear­ance of a young sewing girl. Her van­ish­ing act, appar­ent­ly involv­ing a lad­der and blood-stained traces, rais­es ques­tions not just about how she left, but why. Gryce, method­i­cal and unsen­ti­men­tal, wish­es for some­thing as sim­ple yet pow­er­ful as a pho­to­graph to assist in iden­ti­fy­ing the girl across a sprawl­ing, indif­fer­ent city. But the trail is faint, and time is slip­ping away. As inves­ti­ga­tors piece togeth­er the scene, the absence of pan­ic in the house­hold feels unnat­ur­al. Some­thing vital, per­haps emo­tion­al or rep­u­ta­tion­al, is being con­cealed behind com­posed exte­ri­ors and vague state­ments. The mys­tery isn’t just logistical—it’s per­son­al.

Ques­tion­ing Mr. Blake yields lit­tle in terms of clar­i­ty. He appears uncon­cerned, even unin­ter­est­ed, in the iden­ti­ty or well-being of the girl. Accord­ing to him, house­hold affairs are beneath his atten­tion and entire­ly man­aged by Mrs. Daniels. Not only does he fail to rec­og­nize the miss­ing woman’s name, but he also shrugs off knowl­edge of past ser­vants, such as a valet named Hen­ry who was dis­missed under unclear cir­cum­stances. This detach­ment feels rehearsed, as though he is shield­ing him­self from responsibility—or from mem­o­ry. His respons­es are too mea­sured, his expres­sions too blank. The nar­ra­tor sens­es a lack not only of emo­tion but of engage­ment with the world out­side his books and stu­dio. Mr. Blake is a man who has cho­sen dis­con­nec­tion.

This emo­tion­al dis­tance is not unprece­dent­ed in his fam­i­ly. As the nar­ra­tor learns, the Blakes are known for their eccen­tric­i­ties, espe­cial­ly when it comes to form­ing bonds. His father was fix­at­ed on reli­gion, and his grand­fa­ther on coins. Now Mr. Blake’s own aloof­ness seems to be his inher­it­ed legacy—one shaped by selec­tive with­draw­al rather than any sin­gle trau­ma. Yet, despite this pat­tern, there’s an incon­sis­ten­cy. A name keeps resur­fac­ing: Eve­lyn Blake. A wealthy wid­ow, ele­gant and sharp-mind­ed, she is not just his cousin, but per­haps his only known emo­tion­al entan­gle­ment. Their shared past hints at affec­tion, maybe even some­thing deep­er. And this con­nec­tion adds a lay­er of ten­sion the detec­tive can­not ignore.

It is whis­pered with­in the house­hold that Mr. Blake once paid more atten­tion to Miss Eve­lyn than to any­one else. Their con­ver­sa­tions were fre­quent, their walks lengthy, and their silences com­fort­able. But what­ev­er spark may have exist­ed was nev­er pub­licly acknowl­edged. Instead, Eve­lyn mar­ried abroad, return­ing only after her husband’s death. The way Mr. Blake now speaks of her—reserved but nev­er dismissive—raises sus­pi­cion. He men­tions her with a restraint that doesn’t feel nat­ur­al. His mea­sured tone hides some­thing unspo­ken. Per­haps there was love, or per­haps guilt. Either way, her reap­pear­ance around the time of the sewing girl’s dis­ap­pear­ance can­not be over­looked.

Mr. Gryce, who rarely jumps to con­clu­sions, remains qui­et as he digests these devel­op­ments. He does not say it aloud, but his mind is clear­ly rac­ing. The rela­tion­ship between Blake and Eve­lyn may not just be background—it might hold the key to every­thing. Could jeal­ousy, rejec­tion, or a need to pro­tect a fam­i­ly name be involved? Could Evelyn’s return have unearthed an old ten­sion, one now pro­ject­ed onto anoth­er young woman? These are not cer­tain­ties, but the pres­ence of unre­solved emo­tion in an oth­er­wise indif­fer­ent man is too sharp a con­trast to ignore. Gryce doesn’t press Blake further—for now, his silence is a more reveal­ing tool.

The chapter’s strength lies in how it reveals char­ac­ter through avoid­ance. The miss­ing girl is bare­ly remem­bered by those around her, yet her absence has start­ed to dis­rupt the pol­ished sur­faces of a house­hold built on rou­tine and con­trol. This imbalance—between mem­o­ry and dis­ap­pear­ance, between indif­fer­ence and past affection—creates a sub­tle but grow­ing sense of unease. Read­ers are not just pulled deep­er into the mys­tery of the girl’s fate, but into the strange psy­chol­o­gy of those who sur­round­ed her. Each con­ver­sa­tion, each refusal to feel, becomes a clue of its own. This isn’t just about find­ing a miss­ing per­son. It’s about under­stand­ing why no one seems eager to find her—except the detec­tive, and the nar­ra­tor who’s begin­ning to see that truth hides best in plain sight.