After his departure Tom Gatliffe remained in the front drawing-room a prey to a thousand conflicting thoughts.
The unexpected and singular encounter that had taken place was altogether of such an extraordinary nature that he seemed bewildered and perplexed.
He had never for a moment imagined that Peace had been pursuing a lawless career, and the sudden discovery he made that night fell like a thunderbolt upon him.
Gatliffe was a young man of the strictest integrity, of the highest moral rectitude, and he felt supremely miserable when he reflected upon the incriminating facts, which had been made but too painfully manifest, in connection with his schoolfellow Peace.
He would have given half he was possessed of not to have been in the house at the time of the burglary.
Generous, kind-hearted, and forgiving as he was by nature, he found it impossible to blast the prospects of one whom he had known, almost on what might be termed the threshold of existence.
He glanced at the burglar’s bag, which contained so many valuable articles, and, as he did so, a shudder passed through his frame.
“I fear this is not his first offence,” he murmured, shaking his head sadly. “Young as he is he may possibly be old in crime; but perhaps I do him wrong, yet he was certainly disguised in so cunning and complete a manner that few besides myself would have known him. Certainly his disguise was perhaps the most surprising part of the whole business. Oh! this is all very terrible. I feel wretchedly depressed.”
Footsteps were now heard ascending the stairs, and in another moment the servant girl entered the room. She was accompanied by an inspector of the police and a constable.
“Where is the prisoner?” said the inspector.