‘And you’ve never seen him since?’
‘Not a blessed sight of him,’ replied Mrs Cheedle; ‘you don’t think any harm’s come to him, sir? Not as I care much for him—the drunken wretch—but still he’s a lodger and owes me rent, so I don’t know but what he might be off to Melbourne without paying, and leaving his boxes full of bricks behind.’
‘I’ll have a look round, and if I see him I’ll send him home,’ said Slivers, rising to intimate the interview was at end.
‘Very well, mind you do,’ said the widow, rising and putting the empty glass on the table, ‘send him home at once and I’ll speak to him. And perhaps,’ with a bashful glance, ‘you wouldn’t mind seeing me up the street a short way, as I’m alone and unprotected.’
‘Stuff!’ retorted Slivers, ungraciously, ‘there’s plenty of light, and you are big enough to look after yourself.’
At this Mrs Cheedle snorted loudly like a war-horse, and flounced out of the office in a rage, after informing Slivers in a loud voice that he was a selfish, cork-eyed little viper, from which confusion of words it will easily be seen that the whisky had taken effect on the good lady.
When she had gone Slivers locked up his office, and sallied forth to find the missing Villiers, but though he went all over town to that gentleman’s favourite haunts, mostly bars, yet he could see nothing of him; and on making inquiries heard that he had not been seen in Ballarat all day. This was so contrary to Villiers’ general habits that Slivers became suspicious, and as he walked home thinking over the subject he came to the conclusion there was something up.
‘If,’ said Slivers, pausing on the pavement and addressing a street lamp, ‘he doesn’t turn up to-morrow I’ll have a look for him again. If that don’t do I’ll tell the police, and I shouldn’t wonder,’ went on Slivers, musingly, ‘I shouldn’t wonder if they called on Madame Midas.’