The youth departed.
"Not back yet!" said George, looking hard at the fireplace. "I wonder what he's up to. If the lunatic is out drinking, they'll be on his track, as sure as Fate. Busby," he said, as the cashier entered, "what has become of Gray?"
Busby could give no solution to the problem. "He put on his hat and went off about half-past eight," he said. "I didn't notice anything peculiar about him, except that he swore rather more than usual. I noticed that he looked several times at a blue paper he got by this morning's post, and——"
"What!" yelled the master, springing out of his chair.
"A blue paper," repeated Busby, dodging behind the desk in alarm.
George grasped him by the collar fiercely. "You say he got a blue paper this morning!" he cried.
"Y-yes," said Busby, promptly putting himself in the defensive.
George cast him off. "Enough!" he said. "Go!"
"It was a blue envelope," said Busby, "and when he opened it——"
"Go, will you!"