“Drawn a blank there,” he muttered to himself, dismally. He weighed the matter over in his mind. Should he pursue that line of investigation any farther? It seemed to him that it would prove, in all probability, a fruitless one. He might go to a dozen places and fail to find anything definite about a cigar like this—it might have been purchased a hundred miles away. Again it might prove nothing—it might have been, as he had been quick enough to point out—Prescott’s own—just left on the wash-stand basin carelessly. He decided to abandon it. Then the question of the I.O.U. obtruded itself again. One thing, he knew whose that was! On second thoughts that should prove very much more profitable if followed up. Confronted by that—Lieutenant Malcolm Barker might, conceivably, tell a different story. Major Hornby, too! Try as he would, he couldn’t entirely rid his mind of the suspicion that that gentleman knew more than he had so far been disposed to tell.
Baddeley squared his shoulders and thrust his hands into his pockets. He would lose no time in seeing both Barker and Hornby again. This time they would find him very much more determined. Especially Major Hornby—damn him!
CHAPTER XIX
MR. BATHURST’S WONDERFUL SYMPATHY
Anthony drained his last cup of tea and pushed his chair away from the breakfast table.
“Fitch!” He called the butler over to his side. Fitch listened to him.
“Yes, sir. With pleasure. I think it’s the July issue. I will obtain it for you, sir; in just a moment!”
I think the rest of the company were somewhat surprised to see the excellent Fitch return with the A.B.C.
“Leaving us, Bathurst?” queried Sir Charles Considine. “You haven’t forgotten our——?”
“No, sir. Only taking a run up to town. I shall be back this evening.”
“Want a companion?” I asked.