“Does he say anything for himself?”
“Well, he has a cock-and-a-bull sort of story,” said old Davis, putting his head on one side. “He was sent down to Birmingham on business the week the note became due, and he says he gave the money to a man he trusted to pay it up for him, and that the man has made off or something, for he can find no trace of him. Very unlikely, I am afraid. Mr Trent did all he could in the matter, paid the money, and made it a personal favour to Mr Thornton to keep Mr Masters on, but I feared how it would be when I saw how much had leaked out. I’m sorry, too, for I liked him.”
Jack walked to the dingy window and looked out.
“Have you no sort of idea where he has gone, if he has gone, as I see you believe?”
“Yes,” said the clerk confidently. “I think he has gone to Liverpool.”
“Why?”
“They all go there, that’s one reason. And then I know he has been asking questions in and out about Liverpool of one of the others. I feel pretty sure he has America in his head.”
“Now, Davis, you can do me a favour,” said Jack, coming back suddenly. “We’re close on Christmas. Make some excuse about his absence to-day—put it on me if you like—and, give me a chance of getting hold of him. I shall go down to Liverpool at once. And, mind you, it’s my opinion he will turn out not to blame in that money business.”
“But, Mr John, how can I!”
“Nonsense, man, you haven’t been here five-and-twenty years for nothing. I’ll telegraph back, and be responsible to my uncle,” added Jack with a half laugh. “Hey, boy, call a cab.”