“Thank you, sir. It’s awfully decent of you.”
“I blame myself. I have been blaming myself ever since I heard this other news.”
Something in his tone attracted Tommy’s attention. A new fear gripped at his heart.
“Is there—something more, sir?”
“I’m afraid so,” said Mr. Carter gravely. He stretched out his hand to a sheet on the table.
“Tuppence——?” faltered Tommy.
“Read for yourself.”
The typewritten words danced before his eyes. The description of a green toque, a coat with a handkerchief in the pocket marked P.L.C. He looked an agonized question at Mr. Carter. The latter replied to it:
“Washed up on the Yorkshire coast—near Ebury. I’m afraid—it looks very much like foul play.”
“My God!” gasped Tommy. “Tuppence! Those devils—I’ll never rest till I’ve got even with them! I’ll hunt them down! I’ll——”