With the speed of an antelope he ran down the side street, turned the corner and was lost to sight before the policeman had retraced his steps and gained the corner of the mews.
He looked round for Peace, but even at that moment he did not suspect anything was amiss, concluding that he had returned to what he deemed was his own house.
The housekeeper and shopman were aroused from their slumbers by the constables who had been searching the premises.
No burglar was to be found, but a coat and hat were discovered on the sofa in the drawing-room; these belonged to Peace, who was by this time far away.
“Where is the governor?” inquired one of the policemen.
“Governor!” exclaimed the jeweller’s assistant. “He’s at Fulham.”
“It’s taken him a short time to get there,” cried the man at the door, “seeing that he was here not five minutes ago.”
“Here!” ejaculated the housekeeper. “Oh, it’s impossible—he left hours ago.”
The policeman exchanged blank looks—the truth for the first time dawned upon them.
“What sort of a man is the governor?” inquired one, quickly.