“I dare say we shall be able to find him, sir. Leave that matter to me and my friend Shearman.”
“Ah, just so, you have not introduced me to the gentleman.”
“I beg pardon, I have not. Mr. Shearman, of the New York detectives; Shearman, Doctor Bourne.”
“I should have liked to make the doctor’s acquaintance under more favourable circumstances,” observed Shearman, dryly. “But, let us hope he will be himself again in a day or two.”
“There is not the least doubt of that,” said Bourne; “but, meanwhile, do your best to capture that ruffian.”
“Wrench and Shearman drew aside and had a long conversation, which was carried on in whispers.
“Not at present; there will be time enough for that,” cried Wrench, in a louder tone—“plenty of time.”
“Good; so be it, then,” ejaculated the Yankee.
“I tell you no time is to be lost,” exclaimed the doctor, who was under the impression that they were discussing the mode of proceeding to be adopted in reference to Rawton.
“We will do our best, rest assured of that, sir,” observed Wrench, quietly. “In the meantime, keep as quiet as possible. Good evening. We both wish you a speedy recovery.”