Cicero could say no more. He was choked with emotion, and gave vent to his feelings by shaking his fist at the sky.
"Ah," said Blair, who had been taking in the situation, "Lestrange! You have found a cleverer villain than yourself."
"He has gone away!" roared Cicero, with the voice of an angry bull. "Yes, you may look. He went this morning, bag and baggage. I don't know where he is, save that he roams the wilderness of London. And my money--he paid his bill to mine hostess of the hostel with my money!"
"The deuce he did!" said Alan. "And how did you come to lend him money?"
"I do not mind explaining," said Mr. Gramp, with a defiant glance at the gentleman who represented the police. "I went into partnership with Lestrange. He had no money; I lent him a goodly part of your fifty pounds, Mr. Thorold, on an undertaking that I should get half of what he received from Miss Marlow."
"A very creditable bargain," remarked Alan grimly; "but you invested your cash in a bad cause, Mr. Gramp. I saw Lestrange last night, and assured him that he would not get one penny of the blackmail he proposed to extort. I dare say, after my visit, he found the game was up, and thought it advisable to clear out. I should recommend you to do the same."
"So should I," put in Blair significantly, "or I'll have you arrested as a vagabond without proper means of support."
"I am a professor of eloquence and elocution!" cried Cicero, his fat cheeks turning pale at this stern hint. "You dare not arrest me; and you, Mr. Thorold, will be sorry if you do not employ me."
"Employ you? In which way?"
"To hunt Lestrange down."