"Who is the owner of the house?" Mr. Cloudesley asked the friendly neighbour.
"I don't know, sir; but Mr. Gambit, he collects the rents."
"Gambit, who lives in Rest View Cottage? Then we had better go there at once, Trulock. He may know all about it."
To Mr. Gambit they accordingly went, but he did not know all about it, nor, in fact, did he know anything. But he had plenty to say, for all that.
"A drunken creature she was becoming, sir, and getting worse every time I saw her. I daresay the people are right, and that she has run off. Very likely she has murdered the poor children in her drunken fit, and then just cut her stick."
Mr. Gambit was one of those people who like to anticipate the worst, in order that no one may imagine them taken by surprise; but poor Ralph, not being aware of this peculiarity, was horribly frightened.
Mr. Gambit came with them now, but before they reached the house a messenger came after him, and he was obliged to run home again, some one having called on business. Ralph and Mr. Cloudesley returned to Hill Street, where they found a small crowd collected to stare at the shutters of the little shop.
"We must get in," said Mr. Cloudesley.
"Must you, sir?" said a man among the crowd; "rather you nor me, sir. Once afore she didn't open, and we took fright and busted in, and how she did jaw us, to be sure!"
"That must be borne," said Mr. Cloudesley. "We must see about the children; but we had better knock first."