“Wheer is he then, sir?” said old Tummus firmly.
“Gone away for a bit—perhaps to London.”
“Nay, not he,” said old Tummus, shaking his head, “I’m sewer o’ that.”
“Why, how do you know?”
“Would a smart young man like John Grange was ha’ gone up to London without takking a clean shirt wi’ him?”
“What!”
“Didn’t take no clean shirt nor stoggins nor nowt.”
“Are you sure of that?” said the bailiff.
“I couldn’t make out that anything was gone out of his room, sir,” said old Hannah, clapping her apron to her eyes. “Poor dear: it’s very, very sad.”
“Aye, it’s sad enough,” said old Tummus; “not as it matters much, what’s the good o’ going on living?”